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THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 


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THE 
CITY  OF  TROUBLE 


BY 


RIEL 

BUCHANAN 

WITH  A  FOREWORD 

BY 

HUGH 

WALPOLE 

'    »  ».     J    *.  »    '     '  : 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1918 


3^ 


Copyright,  1918,  bv 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  October,  1918 


COrr  ADfED  -^21    1994 

OR\piN,\i  TO  BE 


A  FOREWORD 

It  has  been  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
Russian  Revolution — ^perhaps  of  every  revolu- 
tion— that  the  spectators  of  its  evolution  have 
named  every  fresh  development  a  cHmax.  Look- 
ing back  now  through  the  events  in  Russia  during 
191 7,  one  sees  the  abdication  of  the  Tsar,  the 
revolt  of  Komiloff,  the  Bolshevik  coup  d'etat  as 
successive  climaxes;  but  none  of  them  as,  in  any 
sense,  an  ultimate  climax.  Although  one  is  now 
a  year  and  a  half  from  that  first  wonderful  day 
in  March  when  the  Cossacks  lined  the  Nevsky 
and  reassured  the  people  who  pressed  against 
their  horses  that  they  would  not  shoot  on  their 
**  brothers,"  the  perspective  is  still  not  clear,  and 
the  day  is  still  too  soon  for  the  authority  of  his- 
tory. 

There  is,  however,  one  thing  that  may  be  done, 
and  I  believe  that  I  am  speaking  without  any 
exaggeration  when  I  say  that  this  book  of  Miss 
Buchanan's  is  the  first  attempt  of  any  writer  in 
any  language  to  give  to  the  world  a  sense  of  the 
atmosphere  of  Russia  imder  the  shock  and  terror 
of  those  world-shaking  events.  By  atmosphere 
I  mean  the  summoning  of  big  and  Httle  things 


38o332 


vi  A  FOREWORD 

to  form  a  mosaic — coloured,  intricate,  unique — 
that  may  lie  behind  and  beneath  the  outside  ob- 
vious events.  We  have  read  now  in  many  books 
accoimts  of  the  policy  of  the  Tsar,  the  first  mag- 
nificence of  Kerensky  and  his  later  weakness,  the 
disintegration  in  the  army,  the  speeches  and 
opinions  of  Lenin,  Trotzky,  and  the  rest,  but 
what  we  have  not  read  as  yet  are  the  things  that 
the  man  who  sells  pies  in  EUisseieff *s,  the  provi- 
sion-shop in  the  Nevsky,  thought  of  it,  how  the 
ladies  who  collected  tickets  on  the  trams  looked 
at  the  changing  manners  and  customs  of  their 
passengers,  what  the  boys  who  ran  up  and  down 
the  switchback  railway  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  Neva  said  when  they  saw  a  famous  general 
shovelling  the  snow  for  a  rouble  an  hour.  I  do 
not  say  that  Miss  Buchanan  has  actually  in- 
formed us  of  those  particular  things,  but  I  do 
say  that  she  has  given  us  a  picture  of  human, 
private  life  imder  the  pressiu'e  of  vast  historical 
events  that  is  precious  and  permanent  in  its  value. 
She  has  given  us  this  not  only  because  she  was 
herself  an  actual  observer  of  them,  but  also  be- 
cause she  has  the  gift  of  imagination,  the  gift 
of  colour,  and  a  philosophy  that  is  more  than 
petulant. 

I  would  not  suggest  that  she  has  not  also  given 
us  her  view  of  the  larger,  more  historical,  events. 
Her  picture  of  the  Russian  court  is  of  the  greatest 


A  FOREWORD  vii 

interest,  and  her  accoiint  of  the  weeks  immedi- 
ately preceding  the  Bolshevik  rising  are  of  political 
value;  but  it  is  for  the  smaller,  more  important, 
things  that  her  book  is  tmique.  No  one  having 
read  it  can  deny  that  it  is  true,  vivid,  personal, 
and  moving. 

Miss  Buchanan  has  placed  us  all  under  a  very 
real  and  serious  debt.  She  has  also  done  Russia 
a  noble  service. 

Hugh  Walpole. 

August  12,  19x8. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Evening  Review  at  Krassnoe  .  i 

n.  July  24 9 

III.  Declaration  of  War 14 

IV.  Moscow 21 

V.  First  Days  at  the  Hospital  ....  30 

VI.  191S 37 

VII.  The  Second  Winter 43 

VIII.  The  Crimea 49 

IX.  Summer,  1916 56 

X.  The  Court 63 

XI.  The  Murder  of  Rasputin 70 

XII.  The  Gathering  of  the  Storm    ...  78 

XIII.  Monday,  March  12 85 

XIV.  The  Emperor's  Abdication 94 

XV.  The  First  Weeks  of  the  Revolution  ioi 

XVI.  Spring,  1917 109 

XVII.  The  Women  of  Russia 117 

ix 


X  CONTENTS 

CHAITER  PAGB 

XVIII.  Bolshevik  Rising  of  July 123 

XIX.  July  17  and  18 132 

XX.  The  Taking  op  the  Fortress    ...  139 

XXI.  The  Failure  of  the  Russian  Army  .  147 

XXII.  The  Coup  d'£tat  of  Korniloff    .   .  152 

XXIII.  A  Soldier 159 

XXIV.  Autumn,  1917 166 

XXV.  The  Bolsheviks  Strike 174 

XXVI.  The  Bolsheviks  in  Power 183 

XXVII.  The  Mockery  of  Government  ...  191 

XXVIII.  Negotiations  for  Peace 197 

XXIX.  Rule  of  the  Red  Guard 206 

XXX.  Anarchy 212 

XXXI.  Last  Days  in  Petrograd 219 

XXXII.  The  Soul  of  Russia 225 

XXXIII.  The  Journey  from  Russia 234 


THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 


THE   EVENING   REVIEW  AT   KRASSNOE 

The  end  of  July,  1914,  the  French  President, 
accompanied  by  a  large  suite,  visited  the  Russian 
court,  and  in  the  same  moorings  near  Kronstadt 
where — scarcely  ten  days  earlier — the  Lion,  the 
Queen  Mary,  the  Princess  Royal,  and  the  New 
Zealand  had  lain,  French  battleships  now  cast 
anchor;  French  flags  fluttered  from  all  the 
houses.  French  officers  and  sailors  crowded  the 
town,  and  on  the  Tuesday,  July  23,  the  President 
accompanied  the  Emperor  at  the  evening  review 
of  the  troops  at  Krassnoe. 

Down  the  straight  road  that  led  across  the  grey 
level  plains  a  stream  of  motors  passed.  Under 
the  cloudless  splendour  of  the  sky  the  fields  lay 
burnt  iron-dry.  An  acrid  smell  of  burning  turf 
filled  the  air,  and  low  down  on  the  horizon  lay 
a  haze  of  smoke  from  some  distant  forest-fire. 

Behind  us  Petersburg  was  hidden  in  a  mist  of 
heat;  Petersburg,  where  an  undercurrent  of  un- 
rest and  trouble  seemed  to  be  brewing,  where 
workmen  gathered  at  street  comers,  and  where 
whole  factories  were  out  on  strike.     But  the  little, 


r,;/;    ,THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

faint  chill  of  fear  I  had  felt  as  we  drove  through 
the  town  was  forgotten  out  here  on  the  plains 
with,  away  to  the  right,  the  silver  shimmer  of 
the  sea  and  all  arotmd  the  hurrying  crowd  who 
seemed  to  have  no  care  or  trouble  in  the  world. 
One  of  the  imperial  motors  flying  the  white  flag 
with  the  double  eagle  passed  us  in  a  cloud  of 
dust.  An  officer  with  the  silver  aiguillettes  that 
showed  him  to  be  an  A.  D.  C.  to  some  general 
cantered  by,  intent  evidently  on  some  order  to 
be  delivered;  three  or  four  soldiers  sitting  at  the 
doorway  of  a  wooden  barracks  were  drinking  tea 
out  of  little  tin  cans;  a  woman  with  a  red-and- 
white  handkerchief  over  her  head  stood  still  to 
stare  at  us. 

From  the  distance  came  the  sound  of  a  military 
band,  somewhere  a  bugle  rang  out  clearly,  and 
as  we  drew  up  on  the  top  of  the  incline  we  could 
see  a  stream  of  red  and  white  pennons  moving 
along  below  us.  Just  here  the  eternal  flatness 
was  broken,  the  ground  sloped  before  us  into  a 
broad,  low  valley,  and  opposite  lay  the  little  hill 
with  the  village  and  church  of  Krassnoe  and  the 
low  wooden  barracks,  summer  quarters  of  the 
guard  regiments  of  Petersburg. 

The  crowd  of  motors,  soldiers,  and  brightly 
dressed  women  was  almost  impassable.  A  wooden 
estrade  had  been  erected  for  the  wives  of  officers, 
the   officials,    and   members   of   the   diplomatic 


EVENING  REVIEW  AT  KRASSNOE      3 

body,  while  farther  on  a  tent  had  been  put  up 
for  the  Emperor  and  Empress  and  the  French 
President. 

A  flutter  of  talk  and  laughter,  gay,  vapid, 
light  as  thistledown,  filled  the  air.  Outside  the 
wooden  railings  officers  paused  to  stand  a  moment 
in  conversation,  looking  up  into  some  smiling, 
downward-bent  face,  and  then  moved  on  with 
silver  jingling  of  spurs.  Opposite  the  estrade  a 
line  of  troops  was  drawn  up,  immovable  and  silent; 
far  away  across  the  plain  a  regiment  was  passing, 
and  the  dust  raised  by  their  marching  feet  made 
a  golden  haze  above  them. 

Disjointed  and  broken  fragments  of  talk  reached 
me  from  the  chattering  crowd  all  rotmd  me. 
Somewhere  in  the  background  a  woman's  voice 
complained  bitterly  about  the  carelessness  of 
a  nurse  who  had  allowed  her  little  boy  to  get 
nearly  run  over  by  a  peasant's  cart.  On  my 
left  a  woman  was  discussing  an  evening  frock 
just  received  from  a  Paris  dressmaker — there 
was  a  rumour  that  skirts  would  be  wider,  but  it 
was  probably  not  true,  and  no  sleeves  were  to 
be  worn,  just  a  diamond  strap  on  the  shoulders; 
of  course,  if  one  had  perfect  arms  it  was  all 
right,  but  otherwise  what  a  very  trying  fashion ! 
A  little  in  front  of  me  two  girls  were  whispering 
and  giggling,  discussing  some  secret  which  I 
could  not  help  overhearing:    **0f  course  I  pre- 


4  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

tended  that  our  meeting  him  was  just  a  perfect 
accident — Miss  Evans  never  suspected  for  a 
moment  that  it  had  all  been  arranged  before- 
hand. My  dear — "  Here  the  whisper  became 
inaudible,  and  then  burst  out  again  with  a  gurgle 
of  laughter:  "Oh,  Sonia,  he  has  such  adorable 
eyebrows!** 

I  wondered  vaguely  what  constituted  the  charm 
of  adorable  eyebrows,  and  then  forgot  to  answer 
my  own  question  as  I  watched  a  fat  old  general 
with  a  red  face  come  limping  down  between  the 
long  lines  of  troops.  Most  evidently  his  brightly 
polished  boots  were  too  tight  for  him,  and  it 
made  my  own  feet  ache  to  think  of  the  pain  he 
must  be  suffering,  when  the  ground  itself  was 
so  baked  by  the  sun  that  one  seemed  to  feel  the 
heat  of  it  rising  up  into  one's  face.  Either  that 
or  the  extreme  height  of  his  collar  had  affected 
his  temper,  for  twice  he  paused  to  bark  out  some 
harsh  reprimand  to  the  immovable  soldiers  down 
the  line,  and  once  his  fat,  chubby  hand  flew  out 
to  point  with  no  gentle  terms  to  the  delinquency 
of  an  unfastened  strap. 

The  sun  was  nearing  the  rim  of  the  Krassnoe 
hill;  the  little  church  stood  bathed  in  golden 
radiance;  high  up  in  the  sky  an  aeroplane  htmg 
like  a  bird  of  prey.  Then  suddenly,  at  some 
unheard  signal,  a  silence  fell  on  all  the  waiting 
crowd,  and  for  a  moment  a  hush  of  almost  breath- 


EVENING  REVIEW  AT  KRASSNOE      s 

less  stillness  held  them  as  in  a  spell.  Then  from 
very  far  away  came  a  burst  of  cheering  that, 
drawing  ever  nearer,  grew  in  sound  and  volume 
like  the  slowly  rising  strength  of  a  distant  storm. 
Something  rose  in  my  throat,  and  the  serried 
ranks  of  soldiers  opposite  to  me  wavered  and 
shook.  A  woman  next  to  me  whispered,  **0h, 
mon  Dieu  /"  and  softly  dabbed  her  eyes  with  a 
lace  handkerchief.  I  saw  the  girl  in  front  of  me 
clutch  hold  of  her  companion,  and  heard  her 
voice,  shaken  by  a  new  note,  say  sharply:  **Sonia 
— I  am  afraid ! — ^Why  am  I  afraid  ?" 

And  then,  riding  on  a  white  horse,  the  Emperor 
passed  in  that  tempest  of  cheering.  I  had  a  con- 
fused impression  of  grave  blue  eyes,  of  a  hand 
raised  in  greeting,  of  a  rustling  of  skirts  as  the 
women  roimd  me  bent  in  low  obeisance,  of  a 
crowd  of  officers  who  followed  him  on  horseback, 
grand  dukes,  generals,  the  varied  uniforms  of 
the  foreign  military  attach6s. 

The  cheering  broke  out  again  spasmodically 
as  the  carriages  with  the  Empress,  the  French 
President,  the  heir  apparent,  and  the  young  grand 
duchesses  passed  slowly  by.  White  horses  with 
outriders,  white  satin  cushions,  flower-wreathed 
hats,  and  the  smiling  faces  of  young  girls !  For 
them  the  soldiers  cheered,  for  them  and  for  the 
little  boy  in  the  sailor-suit,  and  for  the  whiter 
haired  old  gentleman  in  the  black  frock  coat  and 


6  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

I  top-hat.  But  for  the  woman  with  the  hard, 
I  tragic  face  and  haunted  eyes — I  wondered,  and 
then  put  the  thought  aside  as  the  band  burst 
out  into  the  national  anthem  and  all  that  enor- 
mous line  of  soldiers  stretched  away  across  the 
plain  stood  stiffly  at  attention. 

One  after  the  other  the  officers  representing 
each  regiment  stood  forward,  with  their  sergeants 
behind  them,  giving  the  day's  report  to  the  sover- 
eign, who  was  their  commander-in-chief  and 
represented  to  each  soldier  the  "Little  Father'* 
for  whom,  if  need  be,  they  must  fight  and  lay 
down  their  lives. 

The  sun  touched  the  rim  of  the  Krassnoe  hill, 

the  great  plains  lay  bathed  in  golden  light,  the 

troops,  standing  immovable,  seemed  shadow-like 

and  unreal.     A  woman  on  my  right  turned  to  me, 

her  eyes  full  of  a  sudden  thoughtfulness.     **I 

wonder — what  is  an  army  for?"  she  whispered. 

*'It's  so  immense,  isn't  it?    And  what  we  see  is 

I    only,  after  all,  such  a  little  part." 

.      An  officer  standing  by  the  balustrade  just  be- 

1  low  us  looked  up  at  her.     **Just  a  toy  for  Kings 

and  Emperors  to  play  with,  madame,"  he  said, 

V  his  words  half -grave,  half -mocking. 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  "Rather  danger- 
ous toys,"  she  answered,  and  even  as  she  spoke 
the  crash  of  a  gun  broke  the  dreaming  peace, 
and  she  gave  a  Httle  start,  then  mocked  at  her 


EVENING  REVIEW  AT  KRASSNOE      7 

own  fear  with  a  smile.     *'I  had  forgotten.     Of 
course,  it  is  only  the  sunset." 

Again  a  hush  fell  on  all  the  serried  ranks  of 
troops,  and  in  the  profound,  reverent  stillness 
the  band  struck  up  the  soldiers*  evening  hymn. 
The  throbbing  notes  died  out  against  the  golden 
sky,  the  aeroplane  hovering  over  the  hill  swooped 
down  into  the  sunset  and  disappeared. 

Released  from  the  spell  of  silence,  the  crowd 
burst  out  again  into  their  laughing  chatter. 
Motors  buzzed  and  hooted  wildly,  horses'  feet 
clattered  on  the  iron-hard  road,  a  cloud  of  dust 
lay  rosy  and  golden  over  the  valley  as  the  troops 
marched  back  to  camp. 

There  was  a  state  banquet  that  evening  in  the 
palace  of  Krassnoe,  and  after  that  a  performance 
in  the  Httle  wooden  theatre,  where  the  best  artists 
of  the  opera  and  ballet  were  to  take  part.     But,  i 
having  had  dinner  with  some  friends,  we  drove  | 
back  early,  while  the  sky  was  still  a  bright,  lumi-  | 
nous  amber,  with  the  church  standing  up  against 
it  as  if  cut  out  of  deep-blue  paper.     A  white  mist 
stole  ghostlike  across  the  plain,  the  pall  of  smoke 
still   hung  heavily  on   the   horizon.     And   over 
Petersburg  a  cloud  of  heat  and  smoke  lay  like  a    j 
faint,   violet  veil  pierced  here  and  there  by  a 
shimmering  dome  or  a  golden  spire  that  seemed    ' 
to  catch  the  reflection  of  the  dead  sunset  and  glow 
like  a  burnished  flame. 


8  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Ever  closer  grew  the  air,  the  narrow,  badly 
paved  streets  seemed  unbearably  hot  and  suffo- 
cating. A  crowd  of  dirty,  evil-looking  men,  gath- 
ered at  the  comers,  scowled  at  us  as  we  passed. 
A  little  boy  with  a  torn  red  blouse  shouted  out 
some  unspeakable  insult  and  threw  an  old  bit  of 
stick  at  the  motor.  The  town  itself  was  omi- 
nously quiet,  hardly  a  cab  was  to  be  seen.  The 
trams  were  practically  empty,  soldiers  with  rifles 
passed  up  and  down  the  deserted  streets. 

The  red  glow  in  the  sky  had  faded  now,  but  the 
magic  of  a  summer  night  in  the  far  north  held  the 
town  in  a  dream  of  opal-coloured  light.  The 
river  gleamed  blue  and  luminous  and  dark  be- 
neath the  cloudless  sky;  the  great  palaces  along 
the  quay  lay  wrapped  in  sleeping  mystery;  the 
little  steamers  passed  like  silent  shadows  on  the 
dreaming  waters;  in  the  black  mass  of  the  fortress 
one  solitary  light  burned  dimly. 


II 

JULY  24 

That  day  the  wave  of  almost  tropical  heat  that 
for  over  a  month  had  been  reigning  in  Peters- 
burg seemed  almost  to  reach  its  climax.  From 
early  morning  the  sim  blazed  through  a  copper- 
coloured  haze,  the  river  was  like  molten  lead 
with  an  oily  reflection  on  its  absolute  stillness. 
The  little  white  passenger-steamers  passing  to 
and  fro  hardly  made  a  ripple  on  the  smooth  sur- 
face ;  even  the  fussy  black  tugs  dragging  the  heavy 
painted  barges  seemed  oppressed  by  the  weight  of 
the  air,  that  was  heavy  with  the  stinging  scent 
of  smoke  from  the  forest-fires  raging  in  Finland 
and  in  all  the  surroimding  districts  of  the  town. 
On  the  fortress  the  flag  hung  limp  and  dead; 
not  a  leaf  stirred  on  the  great  trees  in  the  sum- 
mer-garden ;  the  few  children  on  the  broad,  shady 
walks  tried  weakly  to  play  their  usual  games, 
only  now  and  then  to  btust  into  fretful  crying. 

Out  at  Krassnoe  the  Emperor  was  holding  the 
big  summer  review  of  the  troops,  and  all  the  sun- 
baked arid  plain  was  a  mass  of  marching  figures, 
with  only  the  magenta  shirts  of  the  Tirailleurs 
de  la  Garde,  and  the  scarlet-lined  cloaks  of  the 

9 


lo  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

imperial  convoy  of  Cossacks  to  make  a  splash  of 
colour  amid  the  tmiversal  khaki-coloured  same- 
ness. 

And  as  the  day  wore  on  the  heat  in  the  town 
grew  more  and  more  oppressive.  The  burning 
pavements  seemed  to  scorch  the  feet,  the  walls 
of  the  houses  seemed  like  furnaces.  Hardly  a 
cab  was  to  be  seen:  now  and  then  a  tram-bell 
clanged  harshly,  and  the  yellow  cars,  nearly 
always  empty,  swimg  noisily  across  the  bridge. 
Early  in  the  afternoon  a  cart-horse  dragging 
sacks  of  flour  had  fallen  down  dead:  and  till 
late  in  the  evening  a  long  line  of  carts  still  stood 
on  the  square,  while  the  weary  horses  struggled 
vainly  to  drag  the  heavy  loads  up  the  steep 
incline  of  the  bridge. 

Slowly  the  sun  sank  into  the  cloud  of  smoke 
in  the  west ;  the  river  lay  like  a  streak  of  copper, 
while  the  bridge  spanning  it  seemed  a  colossal 
shadow  amid  the  deepening  mist. 

Sitting  at  my  window  after  dinner  that  eve- 
ning, I  tried  in  vain  to  get  a  little  breath  of  fresh- 
ness, tried  also  in  vain  to  fight  against  the  sense 
of  oppression  that  seemed  to  lie  so  heavily  on 
everything.  What  this  fear  and  dread  was  I 
could  not  say.  It  was  true  that  there  were  seri- 
ous strikes  in  the  town,  that  a  director  of  one  of 
the  big  factories  had  been  shot  by  a  workman, 
that  Cossacks  were  quartered  in  many  districts. 


JULY  24  II 

that  in  some  places  there  had  been  shooting, 
that  the  windows  of  a  tram  had  been  broken. 
But  it  was  something  far  more  stupendous  and  ; 
vast  that  seemed  to  hover  Hke  an  evil  spirit  on 
the  horizon.  It  may  seem,  of  course,  an  easy- 
thing  to  say  after  all  these  years,  but,  looking 
back  across  many  things  that  have  since  become 
blurred  and  indistinct,  I  have  such  a  very  clear 
recollection  of  that  stifling  summer  evening, 
of  that  still,  turbid  river,  of  the  opal-coloured  sky 
and  the  indefinable  choking  smell  of  smoke. 

And  presently,  as  I  sat  there,  too  weary  even 
to  turn  on  a  light,  there  came  out  of  the  stillness 
the  dull,  far-away  sound  of  horses'  feet  on  the 
hard  wood  pavement.  The  trams  on  the  bridge 
had  stopped,  the  few  couples  walking  slowly  along 
the  quay  paused  and  turned  to  look  in  the 
direction  of  that  ever-approaching  soimd. 

Nearer  it  came,  and  nearer,  and,  bending  out 
of  the  window,  I  saw  them  at  last,  rank  upon  ' 
rank  of  horsemen  with  long  lances  against  the 
sky — grey,  ghostly  figures  in  the  twilight !  And 
now  they  were  passing  beneath  the  windows  and  I 
recognised  them  to  be  the  regiment  of  the  Cheva- 
liers Gardes,  and  felt  again  a  little  throb  of  fear. 
For  I  knew  they  were  quartered  out  at  Krassnoe 
for  another  month,  and  it  must  surely  be  some- 
thing very  grave  that  called  them  up  to  town  so 
suddenly. 


12  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

On  and  on  they  came,  weary  horses  and  weary, 
dust-stained  riders.  Dim  and  unreal  as  the  mists 
from  which  they  came,  or  the  mists  that  swallowed 
them  and  left  of  their  transient  passing  nothing 
but  the  echo  of  their  horses'  feet  on  the  baking 
pavements.  One  of  them,  a  boy  I  had  danced 
with  often  in  the  winter  season,  looked  up  as  he 
rode  by,  and,  catching,  I  suppose,  a  glimpse  of 
my  white  gown  at  the  window,  raised  his  hand 
in  greeting  and  called  out  a  laughing  good  night. 
Was  it  a  premonition  of  coming  evil,  or  why, 
as  I  bent  forward  to  watch  his  passing,  did  sud- 
den tears  choke  my  throat  ?  The  twilight  haze 
had  swallowed  him  and  his  comrades,  a  shadowy 
army — whence  had  they  come,  and  what  was  to 
be  the  end  of  their  day's  march  ? 

Through  the  silver  dusk  we  drove  up  the  quay 
to  a  dance  given  on  board  a  yacht  belonging  to 
some  Americans  who  were  cruising  in  the  Baltic. 
The  great  topics  of  conversation  were  the  strikes 
and  the  calling  up  of  the  first  Guard  regiments  to 
the  capital.  And  through  the  ragtime  music 
I  seemed  always  to  hear  the  echo  of  horses'  feet 
on  the  hard  pavements,  and  always  through  the 
shadows  I  seemed  to  see  those  dim  figures  pass- 
ing on  to  some  imknown  and  distant  goal.  . 

The  next  morning  Austria's  ultimatum  to  Servia 
woke  the  world  from  its  dream  of  an  idle  summer. 


JULY  24  13 

And  scarcely  three  weeks  later  the  boy  who  had 
called  up  that  laughing  good  night  was  shot 
through  the  head  by  a  wounded  German  he  had 
bent  to  help  on  one  of  the  battle-fields  in  eastern 
Prussia. 


\ 


Ill 

DECLARATION  OP  WAR 

The  days  of  the  following  week  have  become 
blurred  and  dim  in  my  mind.  One  seemed  to 
live  in  a  constant  state  of  strained  expectancy, 
at  one  moment  filled  with  hope,  daring  to  believe 
that  war  would  be  averted,  at  the  next  crushed 
by  the  certainty  that  it  was  inevitable. 

On  the  Tuesday  Coimt  Pourtales,  the  German 
ambassador,  lunched  with  us,  and  I  can  well  re- 
member his  hurried,  nervous  manner,  his  quick 
movements  of  denial  when  my  father  warned 
him  that  Germany  would  lead  the  world  into  the 
most  terrible  war  of  history  if  she  did  not  change 
her  attitude.  War  was  the  last  thing  Germany 
wanted,  and  war  with  England  was  out  of  the 
question.  His  words  were  emphatic,  his  voice 
had  an  almost  hysterical  insistence,  and  there 
was  a  very  real  look  of  trouble  in  his  pale-blue 
eyes  when  at  last  he  said  good-bye  to  my  father 
and  went  slowly  from  the  room. 

That  evening,  the  situation  seeming  a  little 
more  hopeful,  I  went  down  to  Peterhof  to  stay 
with  a  friend.    There  in  the  coolness  and  quiet 

14 


DECLARATION  OF  WAR  15 

the  weight  of  dread  seemed  lifted,  and  the  thought 
of  anything  so  stupendous  as  a  world  war  seemed 
impossible.  We  lived  in  a  little  wooden  house 
in  the  middle  of  the  park  and,  being  just  four 
women  alone,  scarcely  saw  any  one  or  heard  any 
news  except  the  contradictory  reports  in  the 
papers. 

On  the  Friday  afternoon,  feeling  too  restless 
to  be  away  from  the  centre  of  things  any  longer, 
I  went  back  to  Petersburg.  The  thoughts  of  a 
common  enemy  and  a  common  danger  had  sunk 
all  ideas  of  strikes  or  any  sort  of  internal  trouble. 
Officers  were  cheered  as  they  drove  through  the 
streets,  the  Emperor's  picture  was  carried  in 
procession  roimd  the  town,  the  churches  were 
thronged  with  people. 

On  Satiu-day  morning  one  still  clung  desperately 
to  the  hope  that  some  miracle  might  even  now,  at 
the  last  moment,  avert  the  catastrophe.  But 
that  afternoon  the  German  ambassador,  arriving 
at  the  Foreign  Office,  handed  the  declaration  of 
war  to  Monsieur  Sazonoff,  and  then  turned  away 
to  the  window,  shaken  by  a  storm  of  tears. 

The  same  evening  Monsieur  Sazonoff,  the 
French  ambassador,  the  Greek  minister  and  his 
wife,  and  one  or  two  other  men  were  dining 
with  us.  Ordinary  conversation  was  qtdte  out  of 
the  question;  there  was  only  one  topic,  and  that 
nobody  yet  seemed  able  to  grasp — ^it  seemed  so 


l6  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

impossible  to  believe  that  it  was  really  an  accom- 
plished fact. 

My  father  had  to  leave  in  the  middle  of  dinner 
to  motor  down  to  Czarskoe  for  a  special  audience 
with  the  Emperor.  Four  times  during  the  eve- 
ning Monsieur  Sazonoff  was  called  away;  the  bell 
of  the  telephone  pealed  incessantly;  the  square 
outside  was  a  dense  crowd  of  people  singing  the 
national  anthem.  Till  late  on  in  the  night 
crowds  besieged  the  doors  of  the  embassy,  cheer- 
ing for  the  British  fleet,  and  always  asking  the 
same  question — ^Would  England  help?  Would 
England  join  with  them?  My  father,  returning 
after  midnight,  could  hardly  drive  up  to  the 
door.  The  motor  was  surrounded  by  a  cheering 
multitude  of  soldiers,  officers,  workmen,  and  well- 
dressed  women;  eager  hands  were  held  out  to 
him,  questions  poured  in  on  every  side. 

The  next  day  all  the  officers  of  the  garrison  as- 
sembled in  the  Winter  Palace,  and  after  a  solemn 
service  in  the  royal  chapel,  the  Emperor  came 
out  onto  the  balcony  and  announced  to  the  huge 
crowd  assembled  on  the  square  the  declaration  of 
war. 

All  during  the  next  two  days  crowds  thronged 
to  the  embassy,  carrying  French,  Russian,  and 
English  flags,  waiting  patiently  for  my  father  to 
appear.  Every  moment  the  telephone-bell  rang 
and  anxious  voices  inquired  whether  we  had  not 
yet  had  any  definite  news. 


DECLARATION  OF  WAR  17 

Once  the  report  spread  that  England  had  de- 
clared war,  and  almost  at  once  an  enormous 
crowd  assembled  before  the  door  and  would 
hardly  listen  to  my  father's  message  that,  as  yet, 
we  had  no  official  confirmation  of  the  news.  It 
was  written  up  in  the  town,  they  said;  it  must 
be  true.  And  it  was  said  that  all  the  British  fleet 
had  been  ordered  out  to  sea.  They  were  sure 
England  would  not  desert  them. 

A  little  later  that  same  afternoon,  the  servant 
came  to  tell  me  that  somebody  wanted  to  see  me, 
and,  going  down-stairs,  I  found  a  dark-haired, 
gentle-faced  woman  waiting,  holding  by  either 
hand  a  little  boy  and  girl.  In  broken  English 
she  asked  me  to  excuse  her,  but  they  had  heard 
that  England  had  thrown  in  her  lot  with  Russia, 
and  nothing  would  satisfy  her  children  but  to 
bring  me  some  flowers  in  token  of  their  admira- 
tion and  gratitude. 

Such  a  small,  pathetic  buneh  of  flowers  it  was, 
with  a  card  tied  on  with  blue  ribbon  and  the  in- 
scription written  in  a  round,  childish  hand: 
"From  Mimi  and  Petia." 

As  I  bent  to  kiss  the  little  dark-eyed  girl  I  had 
a  sudden  choke  in  my  throat,  and  felt  somehow 
rather  small  as  I  had  to  acknowledge  that  we  had 
not  yet  had  the  telegram  from  England,  but  that 
I  thanked  them  very  much  and  felt  quite  sure 
that  England  would  come  in  and  that  together 
we  should  beat  the  Germans, 


i8  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

And  all  the  time,  quietly,  steadily,  unceasingly, 
the  soldiers  were  leaving  for  the  front.  There 
was  no  ostentation  and  show  about  any  of  those 
departures,  no  flags  or  blaring  military  bands, 
and  very  little  cheering.  Only  in  the  early  morn- 
ings long  lines  of  khaki-clad  figures  marching 
away  with  grim,  set  faces  and  unwavering  eyes, 
and  sometimes  tramping  beside  them  a  woman 
with  a  shawl  over  her  head  and  a  child  held  in  her 
tired,  patient  arms,  a  woman  whose  eyes  had  shed 
so  many  tears  that  now,  when  the  final  moment 
had  come,  they  had  no  tears  left  to  shed,  could 
only  stare  out  in  front  of  them,  facing  the  empti- 
ness of  all  the  future  days  with  the  weary,  hope- 
less apathy  of  despair. 

And  then  at  last,  at  five  o'clock  on  the  Wednes- 
day morning,  one  of  the  secretaries  came  into  my 
father's  room  to  tell  him  that  the  telegram  we 
had  been  waiting  for  had  come,  the  telegram 
that  said  in  so  few  words  such  tremendous  tidings 
—"WAR  GERMANY  ACT." 

When  I  telephoned  to  a  Russian  friend  early 
that  morning,  before  the  news  had  become  public 
property,  she  answered  my  call  in  a  flat,  tired 
voice;  then  when  she  heard  what  I  had  to  say, 
burst  into  a  storm  of  hysterical  tears. 

A  little  later  in  the  morning  I  went  with  another 
friend  to  write  down  my  name  for  a  course  of  first- 
aid  training  in  one  of  the  big  Russian  hospitals. 


DECLARATION  OF  WAR  19 

The  sister  who  received  us  looked  us  over  curtly. 
There  was  no  vacancy  at  present.  We  must 
wait  six  weeks  for  the  next  coiu-se.  "Oh,  but, 
please," — I  felt  that  six  weeks  of  inactivity  was 
not  possible — "I  am  English,  and  we  have  just 
heard  that  England  has  declared  war  on  Germany. 
Can't  you  make  an  exception  ?'* 

Her  face  changed  instantly.  *'You  are  Eng- 
lish? I  will  ask  Baroness  Wrangel,  who  is  the 
superior  of  our  hospital,  what  can  be  done.  Will 
you  give  me  your  name,  please?"  She  dis- 
appeared, and  the  line  of  other  girls  waiting 
their  turn  glowered  at  us  somewhat  resentfully. 

Within  two  minutes  the  sister  returned.  *'Will 
you  please  come?"  she  said.  "The  superior 
would  like  to  speak  with  you  herself."  She  led 
the  way  down  a  narrow  passage,  and  ushered  us 
into  a  big,  dark  room  where  we  were  received  by 
an  old  lady  with  a  pale,  worn  face,  made  all  the 
more  spiritual  by  her  nunlike  head-dress  and 
dark-brown  robe. 

"You  are  the  daughter  of  the  British  am- 
bassador?" She  held  out  her  thin,  white  hand, 
her  voice  quivering  with  anxiety.  "Tell  me — 
you  have  had  news  ?" 

I  had  heard  the  question  so  often  before;  this 
time  I  was  able  to  answer  freely  that  we  had  had 
the  official  telegram,  and  that  England  was  at 
war  with  Germany. 


20  TH^  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

*'God  be  praised!*'  The  white,  trembling 
fingers  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  the  tired,  faded 
eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears,  ^fter  that,  every- 
thing was  easy,  and  we  left  the  hospital  with  our 
names  written  down,  having  promised  to  come 
and  begin  work  the  next  morning. 


IV 

MOSCOW 

On  August  23  of  that  summer,  19 14,  the  Em- 
peror went  down  to  Moscow  to  carry  out  the 
tradition  of  celebrating  a  solemn  service,  pray- 
ing for  victory,  in  the  Uspenski  Cathedral,  and 
the  French  ambassador,  my  father,  my  mother, 
and  myself  were  asked  to  be  present. 

We  arrived,  after  a  night's  journey,  at  about 
seven  in  the  morning  and  drove  through  grey,   . 
narrow,  tortuous  streets  to  the  hotel.    A  light,   i 
filmy  blue  sky,  trees  just  turning  yellow,  and  all  I 
the  wonder  of  gilded  spires  and  jewelled  domes   t, 
made  Moscow  seem  a  dream-city  held  in  the  spell 
of   some   golden   enchantment.     Flags   fluttered 
and  waved  from  every  balcony  and  window,  the 
pavements  were  crowded  by  people  who  were  all 
hurrying  in  the  same  direction,  whose  faces  all 
had  the  same  expression  of  a  tense,  restrained 
emotion.    A  sense  of  expectancy  seemed  to  hover 
over  everything,  even  the  commonplace,  comfort- 
ably modem  hotel  was  invested  with  the  feeling 
of  something  imusual,  waiters  and  maids  spoke  to 
each  other  in  whispers,  officers  hurried  to  and  fro 

21 


22  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

with  a  subdued  jingle  of  spurs  to  mark  their  pass- 
ing, and  now  and  then  a  court  official  blazing  with 
decorations  made  his  way  down-stairs. 

A  little  after  ten  we  drove  up  the  crowded 
streets  and  under  the  big  arch  of  one  of  the  Krem- 
lin gates.  And  here,  even  more  than  in  the  town, 
one  felt  that  hush  of  listening,  breathless  silence, 
as  if  the  world  were  standing  on  tiptoe,  athrill 
with  some  great  excitement.  The  rose-flushed 
walls  with  their  round  and  crooked,  square  and 
painted  towers — it  is  useless  to  try  and  describe 
their  wonder — the  spell  of  dead  centuries  and 
battle  and  fire  and  splendour  that  is  theirs.  The 
spires  and  domes,  silver  and  blue  and  green  and 
gold,  the  white  magnificence  of  the  modem  palace, 
the  marvellous  intricacy  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Basil,  the  solemn  grey  splendour  of  the  Uspenski 
Cathedral,  the  dim,  red  walls  of  the  ancient 
palace,  surely  no  castle  of  legend  history  was 
ever  so  beautiful ! 

Driving  across  the  enormous  space  of  the  Red 
Square  we  passed  imder  yet  another  arch,  and 
then  through  courtyard  after  courtyard,  till  we 
drew  up  at  last  at  one  of  the  palace  doors.  Led 
through  a  bewildering  maze  of  long  passages 
and  huge,  empty  rooms,  we  were  left  in  a  great, 
gilded  hall  where  a  little  knot  of  ladies  in  waiting 
and  much-beribboned  officials  stood  like  a  small 
island  in  the  middle  of  some  vast  sea. 


MOSCOW  23 

For  a  long  time  we  waited  there,  speaking 
mostly  in  whispers,  held  by  I  don't  know  what 
sense  of  awe.  On  the  sill  outside  the  great  glass 
windows  a  pigeon  was  preening  its  feathers,  the 
sun  blazed  in  a  cloudless  sky  and  made  of  the 
golden  domes  of  the  little  white  church  just  op- 
posite a  dazzling  splendour  one's  eyes  could  hardly 
bear. 

At  either  end  of  the  long  room,  high  doors 
studded  with  bronze  and  gold  remained  fast 
closed;  beyond  them,  and  outside  the  tight-shut 
windows,  one  felt  rather  than  heard  the  distant 
murmur  of  voices,  the  stir  of  a  multitude  of 
people  like  the  subdued  beating  of  some  great 
human  heart. 

Then  the  doors  at  the  farther  end  swung  noise- 
lessly open  and  a  little  gasp  came  from  the  group 
of  waiting  people.  But  it  was  only  a  grey-haired 
chamberlain,  covered  with  gold  lace  and  ablaze 
with  many  decorations,  who  came  out,  closing 
the  doors  gently  behind  him.  Slowly,  majes- 
tically, he  passed  down  the  length  of  the  long 
room,  the  tapping  of  his  white-and-gold  stick  the 
only  sound  in  the  stillness.  And  silently  the 
doors  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  opened  to 
receive  him,  and  as  silently  closed  behind  him, 
leaving  us  to  our  patient  waiting. 

Two  or  three  officers  grouped  together  talked 
in  low  voices  about  a  rumoured  skirmish  of  troops 


24  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

in  eastern  Prussia,  and  a  white-haired  old  lady, 
wife  of  the  director  of  the  palace,  who  stood  next 
to  me,  told  me  in  whispers  how  she  had  witnessed 
the  coronation  of  the  present  Emperor's  father. 

Then  a  sudden  hush,  a  stir  in  the  farther  room, 
the  doors  swung  open  again  by  a  negro  servant  in 
crimson  and  gold.  Slowly,  amidst  a  silence  that 
was  only  broken  by  the  rustle  of  women's  dresses, 
the  Emperor  and  Empress  passed,  followed  by 
the  young  grand  duchesses,  and  the  Httle  heir 
apparent,  carried  in  the  arms  of  an  enormous 
Cossack  of  the  imperial  convoy.  A  little  group 
of  chamberlains  and  gentlemen  in  waiting  came 
after,  and  paused  to  make  way  for  my  father 
and  the  French  ambassador,  while  my  mother  and 
the  mistress  of  robes  followed.  The  little  old 
lady  on  my  left  laid  a  frail,  trembling  hand  on 
my  arm.  *'Come,"  she  whispered,  her  blue  eyes 
full  of  a  mist  of  tears.  * '  We  have  to  go  with  them ; 
you  are  to  walk  with  me.'* 

The  doors  had  swung  open,  giving  access  to 
yet  another  room  and  beyond  that  to  an  enor- 
mous hall  where  a  waiting  crowd  of  officers,  town 
officials,  and  police  dignitaries  with  their  wives 
and  families  were  assembled.  The  silence  was 
broken  by  a  swelling  burst  of  cheers  as  the  Em- 
peror passed  through;  the  dense  throng  of  peo- 
ple joining  up  behind  us,  making  one  enormous 
procession. 


MOSCOW  25 

Through  hall  after  hall,  passage  after  passage, 
we  passed,  and  now,  leaving  the  modem  part  of 
the  palace,  we  came  to  low-ceilinged  rooms, 
painted  with  dim  old  mosaics,  and  wonderful 
burnished  gold. 

And  then  suddenly  wide-open  doors  giving  out 
onto  a  terrace,  and  the  wonderful  stone  flight  of 
steps  known  as  the  Red  Staircase,  and  all  the 
square  below  as  far  as  eye  could  reach  a  vast  con- 
course of  people,  a  crowd  that  thronged  up  the 
steps  of  the  surrounding  churches,  that  stretched 
away  to  the  encircling  walls  of  the  palaces,  that 
filled  up  all  the  comers  between  the  sacristy 
and  the  distant  rose-red  monastery,  leaving  in 
the  midst  of  all  that  seething  darkness  one 
narrow  pathway,  raised  just  a  foot's  space  from 
the  ground,  covered  with  a  strip  of  crimson 
carpet. 

And  when  the  Emperor  appeared  on  the  top 
of  the  long  flight  of  stairs,  as  if  at  some  unspoken 
signal,  all  that  great  crowd,  workmen  and  citizens, 
merchants  and  peasants,  soldiers,  women  and 
children  went  down  on  their  knees  and  from  them 
rose  a  sound  that  broke  against  the  ancient  walls 
like  the  waves  of  a  tremendous  sea  that  echoed 
and  re-echoed,  swelled,  died  down,  and  burst  out 
again.  For  some  of  them  were  cheering,  some 
were  sobbing,  some — with  streaming  eyes  fixed 
on  that  small  majestic  figure  descending  the  great 


26  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

stairs — were  singing  the  national  anthem,  the 
hymn  for  the  sovereign's  safety. 

Slowly  between  that  kneeling  throng  of  people, 
the  Emperor  passed,  so  near  that  by  stretching 
out  a  hand  those  close  to  the  pathway  kept  for 
him  could  have  touched  him.  And  there  was 
nobody  to  guard  that  path,  no  policeman  or  sol- 
dier with  fixed  bayonet  to  keep  back  that  seeth- 
ing, overwhelming  mass  of  people. 

By  now  nearly  all  the  crowd  were  singing  the 
national  anthem,  singing  it  in  broken,  faltering 
voices,  with  tears  choking  their  utterance,  while 
here  a  woman  lifted  a  child  up  in  her  arms,  there 
a  soldier  bent  his  head  low  over  his  clasped  hands 
as  if  he  dared  not  look,  and  an  old  woman  near 
the  pathway  bent  to  kiss  the  ground  as  the  Em- 
peror passed. 

Then  after  that  glare  of  sunlight,  after  that 
swelling  roar  of  sound  came  the  dusky  golden 
shadow  of  the  old  cathedral,  and  as  the  great  doors 
swung  to  behind  us,  a  sudden  startling  silence. 

The  vast  nave  seemed  a  living  casket  of  jewels 
— dim,  old  mosaics  on  the  walls,  carpets  of 
wonderful,  faded  colours  stretched  on  the  cold 
stone  floors,  jewelled  ikons  priceless  in  workman- 
ship, little  points  of  candle-light  catching  the 
reflection  of  some  precious  stone,  making  it  bum 
with  hidden  fire.  And  golden  and  yellow,  black 
and  silver,  deep  purple  and  glowing  crimson,  the 


MOSCOW  27 

sheen  and  shimmer  of  the  priests*  cloaks,  and,  all 
pale  blue  and  gold,  the  stiff,  high-collared  robes  of 
the  choir  I 

The  little  old  lady  on  my  left  clung  on  to  my 
arm  crying  silently;  on  my  right  a  woman  with 
the  crimson  order  of  St.  Katherine  on  her  breast 
stood  with  a  pale,  set  face,  the  tears  running  tin- 
heeded  down  her  cheeks. 

And  then,  breaking  the  hush,  the  deep,  low 
voice  of  one  of  the  silver-haired  priests  chanting 
the  beginning  of  the  service,  and  rising  above  it, 
silver-clear,  unbelievably  pure,  the  young,  fresh 
voices  of  the  choir. 

A  long  shaft  of  sunlight  streamed  through  one 
of  the  high  glass  windows ;  it  fell  across  the  figure 
of  an  old,  bent  chamberlain,  woke  to  glowing 
colours  the  corner  of  a  priest's  brocaded^cloak,  and 
fell  on  the  fair  hair  of  one  of  the  boys  in  the  choir, 
making  of  that  young  face,  framed  by  the  high, 
jewelled  collar,  the  face  of  an  angel  in  some  old 
picture. 

Up  by  the  golden  doors  leading  to  the  altar  a 
mass  of  burning  candles  made  a  blaze  of  orange 
light  amidst  the  blue  haze  of  incense-smoke.  And 
as  the  dense  crowd  swayed  and  shifted  one  caught 
now  and  then  a  glimpse  of  the  Emperor's  motion- 
less figure,  of  the  huge,  bearded  Cossack  bearing 
the  frail  form  of  the  little,  pale-faced  boy,  of  the 
Empress's  hard,   set  features,  of  the  wonderful 


28  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

spiritual  figure  of  her  sister,  the  Grand  Duchess 
Elizabeth,  clad  in  the  straight  white  robes  of  a 
nun. 

On  and  on  went  the  glorious  service,  the  mar- 
vellous music  of  those  boys'  voices,  falling  now  to 
the  low,  passionate  note  of  an  organ,  rising  now 
clear  and  high  in  the  triumph  of  youth  and  per- 
fect training. 

And  then  in  a  sudden  hush  the  rustling  of 
women's  dresses  as  they  fell  on  their  knees,  here 
and  there  the  sharp  rattle  of  a  sword  striking  the 
stone  floor,  and  then  in  the  deep  silence  above 
that  kneeling  multitude  the  low,  deep  voice  of 
a  grey-haired  priest,  his  trembling  hands  raised 
in  supplication,  his  face  very  pale  beneath  the 
weight  of  his  wonderful  jewelled  crown.  A  prayer 
for  yictory,  for  strength,  for  unity,  for  patience 
and  endurance;  a  prayer  for  the  arms  of  Russia 
and  her  allies;  a  prayer  for  the  fulfilment  of  the 
world's  liberty  and  for  an  ultimate  glorious  peace. 

The  beautiful  old  voice  died  away,  and  in  the 
silence  that  followed  a  muffled  sobbing  was  the 
only  sound.  Then,  as  in  a  jubilation,  the  clear 
young  voices  of  the  choir  breaking  out  again, 
and  a  burst  of  dazzling  sunshine  as  the  great 
doors  swung  open. 

Once  more  the  long  procession  formed,  and  as 
the  Emperor  left  the  church  a  great  roar  of  cheer- 
ing broke  out  from  the  patiently  waiting  crowd. 


MOSCOW  29 

and  high  above  it  against  the  soft  blue  sky  the 
mighty  clamour  of  the  bells — silver  bells  that 
laughed  and  rippled,  great  bronze  bells  that  cried 
a  solemn  warning  to  the  idle  world,  golden  bells 
that  seemed  to  call  to  prayer. 

And  between  that  tempest  of  sound,  the  hurri- 
cane of  cheering,  that  thimder  of  bells,  the  Em- 
peror passed  out  and  the  dim  old  church  sank 
back  to  its  dreams  of  long-dead  magnificence, 
while  the  walls  of  the  Kremlin  echoed  and  re- 
echoed to  that  timiultuous  cheering  that  beat 
itself  out  against  their  strength  and  died  at  last 
to  silence. 


V 

FIRST  DAYS  AT  THE  HOSPITAL 

For  six  weeks  after  the  declaration  of  war  my 
friend  and  I  went  every  morning  to  the  big  yel- 
low Hospital  of  St.  George.  I  don't  think  I  shall 
ever  forget  the  first  morning,  when  Baroness 
Wrangel,  leading  us  through  dim  corridors, 
brought  us  to  the  ambulance  ward,  where  we  were 
to  start  work,  and  introduced  us  to  the  sister  in 
charge. 

It  was  a  big,  light  room  divided  into  two  sepa- 
rate partitions  for  men  and  women.  High  glass 
windows  gave  out  into  the  walled-in,  imtidy 
courtyard  of  the  hospital,  low  wooden  benches 
stood  against  the  walls  and  all  down  the  centre 
of  the  room.  At  one  end  stood  a  plain  deal  table 
with  instruments  and  a  big  metal  dish  of  boiling 
water,  on  another  table  stood  jars  of  ointments 
and  liniments  and  big  cases  of  bandages. 

And  on  all  the  wooden  benches  a  crowd  of  men, 
women,  children,  babies — a  throng  of  humanity, 
poor,  dirty,  suffering,  with  dumb,  patient  eyes 
that  watched  the  sisters  come  and  go,  and  looked 
with  terror  on  all  that  paraphernalia  of  instru- 
ments, bandages,  and  medicines  which  to  them 

30 


FIRST  DAYS  AT  THE  HOSPITAL    31 

meant  nothing  but  torture  unknown  and  terrible, 
whose  healing  power  they  trusted  in  but  could 
not  understand. 

At  that  time  I  knew  hardly  a  word  of  Russian, 
I  had  never  been  in  a  hospital  before,  I  had  never 
seen  anything  worse  than,  perhaps,  a  cut  finger. 
My  first  feeling  when  I  stood  in  the  middle  of  all 
that  suffering  was  one  of  sheer,  helpless  despair, 
and  I  think  I  very  nearly  just  sat  down  on  that 
stone  floor  and  burst  into  tears.  The  sister  in 
charge,  however,  saved  me  from  disgracing  my- 
self in  this  way  by  thrusting  a  btmdle  of  bandages, 
cotton-wool,  and  a  pot  of  ointment  into  my  hands 
and  telling  me  to  hold  them  for  her  while  she 
attended  to  a  man  with  an  abscess  in  his  ear. 
Not  in  the  least  understanding  her  rapid  words, 
and  feeling  rather  sick  and  very  wobbly  about  the 
knees,  I  stood  by  her,  watching  her  swift,  ^deft 
fingers,  and  wondering  whether  I  could  ever  get 
used  to  touching  anything  so  dreadful. 

How  my  friend  and  I  got  through  that  long 
morning  I  don't  know.  I  remember  vaguely 
being  told  to  bandage  up  a  man's  leg  after  the 
sister  had  dressed  his  wound.  I  hadn't  the 
vaguest  idea  which  end  of  the  bandage  to  use  or 
where  to  begin.  Patiently  the  sister  showed  me, 
more  by  signs  than  by  words,  how  to  proceed, 
while  the  man  watched  me,  smiling  in  amused 
tolerance  at  my  clumsiness,   taking  an  intense 


32  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

interest  in  the  sister's  directions,  and  not  in  the 
least  resenting  it  when  I  hurt  him. 

At  one  o'clock  my  friend  and  I  tottered  weakly- 
home,  wondering  whether  we  really  could  ever 
continue  the  work.  The  next  morning  I  went 
there  with  a  cold  feeling  of  dread,  but  having  got 
there,  very  soon  forgot  all  about  it,  and  after  a 
very  few  mornings  we  had  both  got  used  to  the 
routine  and  work.  Gradually,  too,  I  picked  up 
enough  Russian  to  understand  the  sister's  orders 
and  to  be  able  to  ask  for  explanations.  We  all 
had  our  favourite  patients  and  took  a  sort  of 
pride  in  doing  as  much  work  as  we  possibly  could 
in  the  morning. 

Twenty  people  were  admitted  at  a  time,  and 
those  of  us  who  were  free  at  the  moment  always 
stood  near  the  door  and  took  possession  of  what 
we  thought  looked  an  interesting  case.  Heads 
and  arms  were  the  chief  favourites  and  I  remember 
my  friend  teasing  me  as,  on  the  first  morning, 
when  we  were  shown  into  that  room,  I  had  ex- 
claimed rather  weakly,  my  eyes  fixed  on  a  sister 
on  her  knees  before  a  rather  particularly  filthy  old 
man:  *'0h,  I  don't  mind  what  I  do,  but  I  don't 
want  to  have  to  wash  people's  dirty  feet !"  And, 
somehow,  it  nearly  always  fell  to  my  lot  in  the 
m^l6e  when  the  doors  were  opened  to  be  behind- 
hand and  have  to  do  just  what  I  had  said  I  did 
not  want  to  do. 


FIRST  DAYS  AT  THE  HOSPITAL    33 

Nearly  all  the  patients  were  workmen  from  the 
factories  in  the  neighbourhood,  and,  sometimes, 
a  cab-driver,  a  porter,  or  shopkeeper  would  be 
amongst  them.  Most  of  them  were  cases  of  badly 
poisoned  abscesses  that  had  been  neglected  till 
they  swelled  to  a  terrible  size,  or  sometimes, 
even  gangrene  set  in.  Often,  too,  we  would  have 
accident  cases,  and  I  remember  one  poor  old  man 
who  tottered  in,  his  hand  wrapped  up  iipi  a  dirty, 
bloodstained  rag.  In  between  gasps  of  tears  he 
told  the  sister  how  his  finger  had  been  cut  off  in 
a  machine  just  an  hour  ago  and  then  producing 
a  battered  old  purse,  fumbled  in  it  clumsily  and, 
drawing  out  a  small  packet  of  very  dirty  news- 
paper, told  us:  "There  is  my  finger.  Now 
will  you  please  put  it  on  again?'*  The  sister, 
her  voice  not  quite  steady,  her  kind  blue  eyes 
misty  between  tears  and  laughter,  told  him 
gently  that  she  was  afraid  that  was  quite  impossi- 
ble, and  the  old  man  broke  into  sobs,  crying 
bitterly:   *'My  finger,  my  finger!" 

There  was  one  man  with  a  badly  poisoned  hand 
who  always  waited  for  me  at  the  door  of  the  hos- 
pital and  refused  to  let  anybody  else  touch 
him.  An  old  beggar  I  had  often  seen  in  the 
streets,  whose  whole  leg  was  a  mass  of  sores, 
gave  me  very  precise  instructions  exactly  how  he 
wished  to  be  bandaged,  and  when  I  had  finished, 
told  me  that  he  was  very  pleased  with  me  and 


34  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

would  I  in  future  always  attend  to  him,  as  it 
saved  him  the  trouble  of  having  to  explain  the 
somewhat  complicated  treatment  of  baths,  dis- 
infectants, and  ointments  that  he  required.  There 
was  a  little  boy  with  mischievous  blue  eyes  who 
had  a  bad  abscess  on  his  heel  and  brought  a 
baby  brother  of  three  with  a  poisoned  finger. 
That  poor  little  soft,  podgy  hand  was  the  most 
difficult  thing  in  the  world  to  bandage,  and  the 
elder  brother,  watching  one,  would  make  remarks 
all  the  time — not  always  complimentary.  The 
poor  little  babies  were,  perhaps,  the  most  pitiful 
of  all,  such  miserable,  weak,  ailing  things,  who 
already  at  such  an  early  age  had  to  learn  the 
penalty  of  pain,  too  soon,  perhaps,  to  suffer 
much,  just  lying  there  on  their  mothers'  laps  with 
large,  dumb,  questioning  eyes  and  tiny  hands 
that  beat  the  air.  It  was,  indeed,  the  absolute, 
silent  patience  of  all  those  men  and  women  that 
struck  one  the  most — a  childlike  faith  that  how- 
ever painful  the  treatment  was,  it  was  necessary — 
and  besides  that  a  most  wonderful  fortitude  and 
resignation. 

Having  worked  for  six  weeks  in  the  ambulance 
ward,  my  friend  and  I  were  moved  up  to  a  new 
part  of  the  hospital,  where  there  were  two  wards 
of  ten  beds  each,  for  soldiers,  and  two  more  for 
officers.  Not  knowing  enough  Russian,  we  could 
not  go  in  for  the  lectures  and  technical  examina- 


FIRST  DAYS  AT  THE  HOSPITAL    35 

tion,  but,  having  been  taught  the  first  principles 
of  bandaging,  we  had  now  to  leam  the  ordinary 
routine  of  ward-work. 

I  was  on  duty  chiefly  in  the  one  ward  for  soldiers 
with  the  head  sister  and  a  younger  probationer 
over  me,  and  there  was  one  soldier  there  I  clearly 
remember — a  huge,  fair  giant  of  a  man  with 
gentle  blue  eyes  and  an  angelic  smile.  He  had 
a  big  piece  of  shrapnel  in  his  knee,  and  besides  that 
had  a  slight  wotmd  on  the  chest  where  the  bullet, 
glancing  off  a  little  metal  cross  he  wore  on  a  string 
round  his  neck,  had  just  merely  grazed  the  skin. 
His  chief  anxiety  during  his  dressing  was  that  his 
leg  should  not  be  too  heavy  for  us  to  hold,  and 
during  all  the  time  the  doctor  was  examining  his 
wound  he  kept  on  watching  my  face  with  tor- 
tured eyes,  repeating  now  and  then  in  a  whisper: 
*'It  is  too  heavy  for  you,  little  sister — you  will  be 
tired." 

His  wife,  a  stout,  well-to-do  lady  in  a  tight 
bottle-green  gown,  came  to  see  him  very  often, 
bringing  him  sweets  in  paper  bags,  apples,  and 
cigarettes.  The  first  time  she  came  after  he  was 
brought  in  I  happened  to  be  in  the  ward,  and  when 
she  saw  him  lying  in  bed,  she  caught  hold  of  my 
arm  in  a  sudden,  helpless  burst  of  tears.  *'He  is 
going  to  die — surely  he  is  going  to  die,"  she  sobbed. 
Raising  himself  as  well  as  he  could,  he  held  out  his 
hands  to  her.     ' '  You  mustn't  cry, ' '  he  told  her,  his 


36  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

own  voice  shaken  by  tears.  *  *  You  see  I  am  getting 
much  better.'* 

I  was  by  this  time  feeling  rather  like  crying  my- 
self, so  I  placed  the  good  lady  in  a  chair  by  his 
side  and  hurriedly  left  the  ward. 

About  two  weeks  later  the  little  hospital  started 
by  the  British  colony  was  opened  and  very  few 
days  after  that  the  first  convoy  of  wounded  was 
brought  in,  and,  leaving  the  Hospital  of  St.  George, 
my  friend  and  I  took  up  our  new  work. 

Among  that  first  batch  of  wounded  there  were 
two  men  ill  with  pneumonia,  and  though  none 
of  the  others  were  seriously  hurt  there  were  several 
with  rather  nasty-looking  wounds.  There  was 
one  man  in  particular  whose  hand  had  been  shat- 
tered by  an  explosive  bullet,  and  I  remember  the 
first  time  his  bandage  was  being  removed,  the 
doctor  who  had,  I  think,  not  much  opinion  of 
volunteer  nursing,  looked  up  at  me  quickly. 
**You  are  not  going  to  be  afraid,"  he  snapped 
and,  evidently  not  quite  believing  my  reply,  stood 
by  me  all  the  time,  watching  my  face  with  alert, 
suspicious  eyes. 

It  was  this  doctor  who,  speaking  French  per- 
fectly, examined  my  friend  and  me  in  some  of 
the  technical  details  we  had  not  been  able  to 
learn  in  Russia,  and  later  on  passed  us  as  volunteer 
war  nurses. 


VI 

1915 

Of  all  the  time  that  followed  I  really  have  very 
little  recollection  and  there  is  hardly  anything 
that  stands  out  in  my  mind  with  very  clear  dis- 
tinctness. 

The  first  few  weeks  of  the  war  the  advance  of 
the  Russian  troops  in  eastern  Prussia  held  one 
inthralled,  then  came  the  terrible  losses,  the  re- 
treats, the  long,  long  months  of  waiting  and 
watching.  And  now  and  then  to  break  the  grey 
monotony  a  little  ray  of  light.  The  action  of 
Admiral  Beatty's  squadron  off  Heligoland,  and 
the  battle  of  the  Dogger  Bank,  the  taking  of  Lvoff 
and  Przemysl  by  the  Russians.  Then  a  burst  of 
enthusiasm,  crowds  parading  the  streets  with 
flags,  manifestations  in  front  of  the  embassy, 
speeches,  cheering,  congratulations.  Then  silence 
again  and  another  long,  dreary  time  of  wait- 
ing, during  which  slowly,  gradually,  bit  by  bit 
and  inch  by  inch  that  enthusiasm  waned  and  died 
away,  and  the  doubts,  the  questions  that  had  at 
first  been  only  rare  and  occasional  grew  more  and 
more  frequent:  ** Where  is  the  British  navy? 
What  is  the  British  army  doing  ?    When  our  sol- 

37 


38  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

diers  advance  over  the  terrible  strongholds  of  the 
Carpathian  Mountains,  when  they  are  beaten 
back,  when  they  are  killed  in  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands and  ten  thousands,  what  are  the  English 
soldiers  doing,  sitting  in  their  trenches?" 

Questions  very  hard  to  endure  in  patience, 
very  hard  to  answer  when  the  questioners  would 
not  understand  or  try  to  see  the  reason  and  logic 
in  our  reply. 

And  during  all  those  long,  long  months  the  hos- 
pital was  always  full,  the  endless  routine  of 
work  went  on.  And  there  were  storms  and  times 
of  calm,  and  many,  many  wounded  who  came 
and  went.  And  sometimes  a  soldier  died  and  the 
men's  footsteps  in  the  wide,  light  passages  were 
hushed,  and  there  would  be  a  service  in  the  little 
wooden  chapel  at  the  back  of  the  garden,  candles 
burning,  an  open  coffin,  a  tortured  face  at  peace. 
And  sometimes  there  were  feast-days  when  the 
hospital  buzzed  like  a  hive,  and  the  soldiers  had 
butter  on  their  bread  and  huge  spoonfuls  of  jam 
in  their  tea — as  is  the  invariable  custom  of  Rus- 
sian soldiers  who  put  everything  one  gives  them 
into  the  beloved  cup  of  tea,  from  oranges,  lemons, 
or  apples,  down  to  jam  and  sweets.  And  in  the 
sisters*  room  with  its  English  chintzes  and  pink 
curtains  all  signs  of  work  were  put  away,  and 
perhaps  there  would  be  some  flowers  or  a  choco- 
late cake  on  the  tea-table.    And  Sister  Anna 


1915  39 

walked  about  in  a  brown  silk  gown  and  a  big 
gold  cross  hung  on  a  broad  blue  ribbon  round  her 
neck,  and  beamed  on  everybody  and  forgot  to 
scold. 

Poor  Sister  Anna  with  her  kind,  yellow,  wrinkled 
face,  her  rigorous  fasting,  her  strict  religious  prin- 
ciples which  made  her  sometimes  send  a  soldier 
barely  strong  enough  to  sit  up  in  bed,  to  stand 
during  a  long  hour's  service  in  church.  I  remem- 
ber, also,  how  one  day  when  we  were  all  being 
rather  frivolous  at  luncheon,  she  turned  on  us  and 
told  us  that  it  was  a  sin  to  talk  so  much  dining 
meals.  That  food  was  given  us  from  heaven  and 
consequently  must  be  eaten  in  silence  and  gravity. 
One  of  us  ventured  to  suggest  that  after  all 
laughter  was  also  a  gift  of  God,  but  she  would 
not  hear  of  that  and  insinuated  that  it  came 
from  the  devil,  and  consequently  was  not  to  be 
encouraged  under  any  circumstances. 

And  during  all  those  days  of  work  the  Russian 
soldiers  held  their  places  in  our  hearts.  Patient, 
uncomplaining,  gentle  as  children,  they  lay  there 
in  the  quiet  blue-and-white  wards  with  tired, 
suffering  eyes  that  welcomed  one's  coming  al- 
ways with  a  smile.  "It  is  nothing,  little  sister," 
that  was  the  invariable  answer  when  one  asked 
how  they  were.  And  with  the  knowledge  of  all 
that  has  come  after,  with  the  picture  of  the  Rus- 
sian soldier  as  I  saw  him  last  before  my  eyes,  I 


40  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

can  still,  looking  back  across  the  years,  see  those 
other  figures  that  I  knew  before.  Petroff,  who 
was  one  of  the  first  patients  we  had,  who  died 
after  he  had  been  in  the  hospital  two  days,  whose 
poor,  pale  lips  never  told  us  the  secret  that  seemed 
to  haunt  him  through  the  shadows  of  his  delirium 
when  he  called  out  desperately:  "Let  me  go — 
I  tell  you  this  isn't  my  battery — I  know  it  isn't. 
Give  me  back  my  clothes  and  let  me  go."  Fir- 
schenke,  who  had  to  have  a  desperate  operation 
eight  hours  after  he  had  been  brought  in  to  us, 
whose  wide,  grey,  childish  eyes  gave  me  one  wild, 
appealing  glance  as  the  doctor  put  the  mask  over 
his  face,  who  during  the  long  hours  of  untold 
agony  after  that  operation  lay  in  patient  silence, 
clinging  onto  my  hand,  and  when  at  last,  late  in 
the  evening,  I  rose  to  go,  whispered  huskily: 
*' Thank  you — God  bless  you,  little  sister."  Pav- 
loff,  the  boy  with  the  golden  curls  and  the  dark- 
blue  eyes,  who,  shot  through  the  lungs  and 
paralysed  as  well,  lay  there  for  months  growing 
every  day  weaker,  thinner,  paler,  suffering  more 
and  more  intensely,  always  with  that  patient, 
tragic  smile  in  his  eyes,  the  husky,  tired  voice 
that  whispered  so  pathetically:  "If  only  I  was 
not  in  such  pain,  how  comfortable  I  should  be 
with  so  many  people  looking  after  me !  Just  as 
if  I  was  a  gentleman."  Sokoloff,  gentle,  low- 
voiced,  always  smiling,  whose  leg  had  been  so 


1915  41 

badly  amputated  in  some  field-hospital  that  he 
had  to  have  several  more  operations  and  was  with 
us  for  nearly  a  year.  And  not  once  during  all 
that  time  did  he  complain,  and  whatever  he  might 
be  suffering,  there  was  always  the  same  sweet 
smile  to  answer  one's  question:  **0h,  it  is  better, 
little  sister — it  is  much  better."  Valkakoff,  des- 
perately badly  wounded  and  dying  of  inflamma- 
tion of  the  lungs,  his  soft  brown  eyes  wistful  with 
the  shadow  of  death,  who  late  one  evening  when, 
already  in  my  outdoor  things,  I  looked  into 
the  ward  to  say  good  night  to  the  head  sister, 
called  me  up  to  his  bed  and  pulled  down  my 
muff  to  his  cheek.  "So  soft,"  he  whispered 
hoarsely  and,  still  holding  onto  it,  fell  asleep. 

There  are  many  others  whose  patient,  suffering 
eyes  look  at  me  out  of  the  shadows  of  those  times, 
whose  faint  voices  call  to  me,  whispering  that 
they  fought  and  gave  of  their  best,  youth  and 
strength  and  soundness  of  limb  and  life  itself. 
Where  have  they  gone  now  and,  living  or  dead, 
what  are  their  thoughts  ? 

And  all  through  those  summer  months  the  Ger- 
mans advanced  and,  fighting  steadily,  inch  by 
inch,  the  Russians  retreated,  and  as  they  retreated 
hordes  of  refugees  flooded  Petrograd,  men,  women, 
and  children,  housed  in  filthy  wooden  barracks, 
dying  of  dirt  and  disease  and  want,  herded  to- 
gether indiscriminately. 


42  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Pitiful  stories  they  had  to  tell.  Here  a  small 
baby,  whose  mother  had  died  or  been  lost  on  the 
way;  here  a  woman,  distraught  and  wild,  seek- 
ing everywhere  for  a  little  girl  three  years  old, 
whose  fate  no  one  knew;  here  an  old  man,  broken, 
helpless,  half-blind,  whose  wife  and  daughter 
had  both  died  during  that  terrible  retreat. 

A  feeding-point,  where  the  English  ladies  took 
it  in  turn  to  be  on  duty  and  hand  out  soup  and 
bread  was  quickly  started,  then  a  lost-baby  home 
where  some  of  those  nameless  little  ones  were  fed 
and  clothed  and  cared  for,  and  a  maternity  home 
where  the  mothers  were  tended  and  nursed  by 
English  sisters. 

The  short,  grey  days  of  autumn  grew  ever 
shorter  and  greyer,  the  coldest  winter  we  had  had 
for  many  years  held  Petrograd  in  snow-bound,  icy 
quiet.  There  were  no  cheering  crowds  about 
the  streets  now,  no  flags  carried  round  in  triumph. 
Only  silent  throngs  on  the  Nevsky  Prospect 
reading  the  telegram  posted  in  the  windows, 
and  already  everywhere  those  long  lines  of  patient 
women  waiting  through  slush  and  snow  and 
bitter  cold  for  bread  and  milk  and  meat. 


VII 

THE  SECOND  WINTER 

It  seemed  sometimes  as  if  that  long  winter  of 
1915-1916  would  never  end.  Looking  back  at 
my  diary,  I  find  long  gaps  between  the  days  and 
then  just  a  sentence,  perhaps:  "Nature's  new — 
colder  than  ever — the  hot-water  pipes  near  the 
dining-room  have  burst  and  we  now  have  our 
meals  either  in  my  father's  study  or  the  little 
anteroom.     It's  snowing  again." 

In  many  of  the  houses  the  central  heating 
would  not  work  with  wood,  and  the  shortage  of 
coal  was  already  beginning  to  make  itself  felt. 
People  sat  and  shivered  in  their  fur  coats  or  tried 
to  get  a  little  heat  from  badly  burning  oil-stoves. 
In  the  hospital  the  big  wards  could  hardly  be 
kept  warm,  the  soldiers  lay  covered  up  under  a 
multitude  of  blankets  and  patchwork  quilts. 
Sister  Anna  walked  about  in  a  grey  woollen  shawl, 
her  yellow,  wrinkled  face  enframed  in  her  nun- 
like head-dress,  a  little  more  wrinkled,  her  temper 
a  little  more  trying. 

Down  by  the  Warsaw  station  the  suffering 
among  the  refugees  increased.    The  wooden  sheds 

43 


44  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

would  not  hold  the  ever-increasing  numbers, 
hundreds  of  men,  women,  and  children  were 
housed  in  filthy  cellars  which  could  not  be  heated. 
Many  of  the  children  had  nothing  but  little  cotton 
frocks,  nearly  all  of  them  had  no  shoes,  most  of 
the  babies  died  of  cold  and  want  of  proper  care. 
A  clothing  fimd  was  started  and  once  a  week  the 
names,  numbers,  and  ages  of  about  sixty  or 
seventy  families  were  written  down,  then  the 
various  bundles  of  frocks,  shirts,  and  petticoats 
were  made  up  at  the  embassy  and  given  out  at 
the  feeding-point  on  Saturday  morning.  A  great 
many  of  these  little  dresses  were  made  at  the 
weekly  sewing-party,  but  bundles  of  old  clothes 
were  also  sent  to  the  embassy  and  sorted  out  and 
distributed  in  the  various  parcels.  Two  or  three 
of  the  English  ladies  came  once  a  week  to  help 
in  the  sorting  and  packing,  and  the  room  re- 
sembled nothing  more  than  an  old  rag-market. 
Every  kind  of  garment  was  on  view  there  from 
old  battered  straw  hats  to  baby's  socks  and  warm 
woollen  jerseys,  old  cloaks,  shawls,  stockings,  and 
petticoats.  How  tired  we  used  to  get  by  the 
time  we  got  beyond  the  fortieth  parcel.  I  re- 
member the  viciousness  I  sometimes  felt  when 
my  mother's  secretary  read  out  the  names  from 
her  big  account-book:  "Proskovia  Platnin — 
one  girl  of  twelve,  one  boy  ten,  one  girl  eight, 
three  boys  six,  four,  three,  baby  eight  months  old." 


THE  SECOND  WINTER  45 

Really  people  ought  not  to  have  so  many  children 
— and  there  aren't  enough  boys'  shirts — must 
they  each  of  them  have  a  pair  of  woollen  stockings  ? 

One  day  a  week  also  we  had  the  loan  of  one  of 
the  military  bath-trains,  and  several  of  the  Eng- 
lish ladies  themselves  undertook  the  bathing  and 
dressing  of  the  babies  and  smaller  children.  I 
went  down  on  one  of  my  free  days  from  the  hos- 
pital and  rather  enjoyed  drying  the  little,  wet, 
clean  bodies,  until  a  friend  who  had  come  there 
with  me  came  up  to  me  very  pink  after  her  exer- 
tions of  scrubbing  a  small  boy  of  five.  *'Meriel, 
his  head  was  absolutely  alive,"  she  said  with  a 
little  gasp.  I  had  at  that  moment  got  an  angeli- 
cally pretty  child  on  my  knee  whose  hair  clustered 
ii;i  delicious  golden  curls  all  over  her  head.  Care- 
fully I  rubbed  it  with  the  clean  towel  I  held  in 
my  hand,  and  when  I  looked  at  it  discovered  that 
my  friend  had  been  only  too  right,  and  immedi- 
ately began  to  feel  myself  itch  all  over,  and  I 
remember  that  I  had  a  very  hot  bath  when  I 
went  home  late  that  evening. 

The  hospital  took  up  nearly  all  my  days  and 
I  very  seldom  had  time  to  go  down  to  the  feeding- 
point,  and  I  can  only  say  that  the  English  ladies 
who  worked  there  steadily  for  nearly  a  year  have 
all  my  admiration,  as  for  the  most  part  it  was 
rather  a  thankless  task  and  exceedingly  tiring, 
as  well  as  entailing  a  constant  risk  of  infection  of 


46  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

all  kinds.  I  can  remember  very  distinctly  that 
long,  low  wooden  shed,  the  steam  of  damp  and 
heat  on  the  windows,  the  two  huge  caldrons  of 
boiling  soup,  the  big  baskets  filled  with  great 
pieces  of  black  bread,  and  the  crowd — old  men, 
women,  children,  dressed  in  the  oddest  assort- 
ment of  clothes — shufHing,  pushing,  jostling  each 
other,  eager,  trembling  hands  outstretched  for 
their  basin  of  soup,  querulous  voices  asking  for 
just  a  Httle  more,  begging  for  a  bottle  of  milk  to 
take  home  to  a  dying  baby,  telling  long,  rambling, 
pitiful  stories  of  want  and  misery  and  cold. 

Whether  it  came  from  the  refugees  or  not  I 
don't  know,  but  I  remember  it  was  this  winter 
that  there  was  a  perfect  epidemic  of  measles,  both 
German  and  otherwise.  Every  family  in  the 
British  colony  had  it,  and  then  one  after  the  other 
the  whole  embassy  succimibed  to  it.  If  it  had  not 
been  rather  trying  it  really  would  have  been  very 
comic,  the  care  with  which  we  examined  ourselves, 
the  dismay  with  which  we  perceived  anything 
approaching  a  spot  on  our  noses.  I  was  one  of  the 
last  victims,  but  I  don't  think  I  was  very  much 
to  be  pitied,  and  I  think  I  really  rather  enjoyed  the 
enforced  rest  and  laziness. 

Looking  back  at  my  diary,  I  see  that  it  was  this 
winter,  also,  that  I  met  General  Polivanoff,  the 
new  minister  of  war.  "We  dined  yesterday  eve- 
ning with  the  Sazonoffs  and  I  sat  next  to  Poliva- 


THE  SECOND  WINTER  47 

noff Politically  I  know  really  nothing  about 

him,  but  personally  I  immediately  took  a  great 
sympathy  to  him.  He  is  one  of  those  grand,  old 
Russians,  enormously  tall,  with  a  wonderfully 
commanding,  imposing  presence,  a  rugged  face 
framed  in  a  short,  dark  beard,  and  deep-set  grey 
eyes,  keen  and  very  bright  and  yet  unspeakably 
kind.  He  asked  me  all  about  the  hospital  and  my 
work  and,  when  I  said  I  loved  the  soldiers,  beamed 
on  me  delightedly  and  promised  me  very  soon  to 
come  and  visit  them  himself.'* 

I  think  I  hardly  expected  him  to  keep  his  prom- 
ise or  remember  anything  about  me,  but  two 
days  later  his  secretary  telephoned  to  me  saying 
that  fifteen  places  had  been  reserved  at  a  special 
performance  at  the  People's  Palace  and  would  I 
bring  some  of  the  soldiers  from  the  British  Hos- 
pital. I  was  unfortunately  unable  to  go  with 
them  myself,  but  one  of  the  other  sisters  took 
them,  and  the  next  morning  the  soldiers,  who,  I'm 
afraid,  were  not  quite  devoid  of  snobbishness, 
told  me  with  delight  and  pride  how  after  the  per- 
formance an  officer  had  come  up  and  asked  which 
were  the  soldiers  from  the  British  colony  hos- 
pital, and  how  then  the  minister  of  war  had  sent 
foi  them  and  talked  to  every  one  of  them  in  turn, 
and  how  the  soldiers  from  all  the  other  hospitals 
had  looked  on  in  envy. 

About  ten  days  later,  also  General  Polivanoff 


48  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

drove  all  the  way  out  to  our  hospital  and  his 
kindness,  the  wonderful  charm  of  his  manner, 
the  ease  with  which  he  seemed  to  find  the  right 
thing  to  say  to  each  individual  man,  as  if  for  each 
one  he  had  a  special  interest,  made  his  visit  stand 
out  a  red-letter  day  in  the  soldiers*  memory. 

A  patriot  and  an  honest  man,  he  spent  himself 
heart  and  soul  in  an  endeavoiir  to  retrieve  the  fatal 
mistakes  of  the  past.  The  terrible  lack  of  am- 
munition •  that  had  led  to  disaster  after  disaster, 
the  awful  waste  of  human  life,  the  bad  general- 
ship, the  bribery,  treachery,  and  intrigue,  it  all 
surrounded  him  like  a  web  which  he  tried  in  vain 
to  break  and  sunder,' while  the  kind  eyes,  seeing 
the  suffering  of  the  soldiers  he  looked  on  as  his 
children,  grew  tired  and  sad,  the  broad  shoulders 
a  little  bent  under  the  weight  of  care. 


VIII 

THE  CRIMEA 

The  end  of  February,  191 6,  my  father,  who  had 
been  ill  off  and  on  during  all  the  winter,  was  given 
three  weeks'  leave  to  go  to  the  Crimea.  We  left 
Petrograd  with  snow-bound  streets,  with  the  thick 
mass  of  ice  still  blocking  the  river,  though  here 
and  there  great  cracks  showed  a  gleam  of  water, 
dark  and  still  beneath  the  frozen  whiteness.  A 
special  saloon-carriage  had  been  given  us  and  we 
travelled  in  the  greatest  ease  and  comfort.  And 
slowly,  gradually  during  those  four  days  we  left 
winter  behind  us,  though  the  spring  we  found  was 
but  a  grey,  dim  ghost  of  bleak  grass  and  leafless 
trees.  All  the  last  day  it  rained  and  the  cotmtry 
showed  nothing  but  miles  and  endless  miles  of 
bare,  brown  fields,  a  few  straggling  birch-trees, 
a  yellow  river,  some  wretched  green-roofed  vil- 
lages. V/aking  the  next  morning  was  like  com- 
ing suddenly  into  fairyland — a  flood  of  sunshine, 
a  sea  bluer  than  anything  one  can  imagine  or  had 
ever  dreamt  of,  here  and  there  fruit-trees  in  full 
blossom,  a  town  perched  on  the  top  of  a  brown 
rock  like  some  old  citadel  of  Italy. 

We  spent  a  day  and  a  night  in  the  quaint  little 

49 


50  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

town  of  Sebastopol,  with  its  steep,  narrow  streets, 
its  wide  blue  harbour,  where  the  great  grey  battle- 
ships lay  at  anchor,  and  its  French  and  English 
cemeteries,  where  the  graves  of  those  soldiers  who 
had  fallen  so  far  from  their  own  coimtry  were 
covered  all  the  year  round  with  flowers. 

Amidst  so  many  new  impressions  all  jostling 
each  other  in  my  mind  I  find  it  hard  to  remember 
each  thing  clearly,  but  just  one  or  two  things 
stand  out  as  vividly  as  if  I  had  seen  them  only 
yesterday:  The  little  white,  green-roofed  mon- 
astery of  St.  George,  the  wonderful  brown  and 
amber  rocks  that  dropped  down  into  a  sea  so  blue 
that  it  made  one  catch  one's  breath  in  almost 
physical  pain.  Through  the  dark  doorway  of  the 
French  church  an  almond-tree  in  full  blossom 
against  the  deep  blue  of  the  bay,  and  the  sotmd  of 
a  bugle  rising  small  and  clear  from  one  of  the  dis- 
tant battleships.  And  Balaclava — who  having 
once  seen  Balaclava  could  ever  forget  it?  The 
narrow  green  valley  where  the  Light  Brigade 
charged  the  Russian  guns,  and  on  the  right  the 
little  bay,  blue  as  a  fallen  aquamarine,  closed  in 
by  towering  rocks;  behind  the  one  street  along 
the  shore  pink  and  white  houses  that  straggled 
up  the  hillside  in  no  definite  order  or  sequence, 
and  high  above  them  the  red-brown  ruins  of  a 
fortress  built  by  the  men  of  Genoa  thousands  of 
years  ago. 


THE  CRIMEA  51 

So  still  it  was  that  one  hardly  dared  to  speak 
above  a  whisper;  not  a  ripple  broke  the  surface 
of  the  water,  smooth  as  a  sheet  of  glass;  an  old 
Tartar  with  a  face  burnt  almost  black  smiled  at 
us  from  a  dark  doorway,  two  or  three  little  boys 
played  at  some  mysterious,  silent  game  close  by 
the  water's  edge.  Then,  climbing  the  narrow 
track  up  the  hill,  we  came  with  almost  startling 
suddenness  upon  the  open  sea  and  met  a  rush  of 
intoxicating  air.  Far  below  us  the  waves  whis- 
pered together  as  they  broke  in  foaming  white- 
ness at  the  feet  of  the  huge  brown  rocks;  above 
our  heads  masses  of  black  and  white  gulls  wheeled 
and  circled,  watching  us  with  restless  yellow  eyes. 
At  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff  a  sailor  sat  on  guard 
in  a  wooden  shed,  and  farther  up  the  cliff  a  soldier 
stood,  leaning  on  his  gun,  gazing  out  to  sea  with 
steady,  iniblinking  eyes.  Turning  away  at  last, 
we  went  back  down  the  rough-hewn  path,  the 
soimd  of  the  sea  dying  to  a  whisper  behind  us, 
the  bay  below  us,  and  the  tiny^'pink  and  white 
houses  seeming  held  in  an  enchanted  spell  of 
eternal  silence. 

The  next  day,  having  been  lent  motors  by  the 
governor  of  Sebastopol,  we  started  on  the  three 
hotus'  drive  to  Yalta,  a  drive  that  led  one  for  the 
first  hour  across  the  plain,  where  here  and  there  a 
monument  marked  the  spot  of  some  ancient  battle- 
field, and  then  on  through  valleys  and  golden 


52  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

hills  till,  mounting  even  higher,  we  came  out 
through  an  old  grey  gateway,  miles  and  miles 
above  the  sea. 

On  and  on  went  the  road,  round  interminable 
comers,  through  little  crowded  Tartar  villages, 
past  great  white  villas  and  low  houses  with  stone- 
walled gardens  and  baby  cypress- trees.  The 
driver  of  the  motor  I  was  in  was  a  sailor  of  the 
Black  Sea  Fleet,  who  entertained  me  with  a  stream 
of  conversation,  whisked  me  round  comers,  and 
incidentally  ran  the  motor  into  one  of  the  little 
open  Tartar  carriages  that  trail  up  and  down  the 
road,  dragged  by  tired  ponies  with  blue  harness. 
Having  extricated  ourselves  amidst  a  chorus  of 
shrieks  and  curses  with  no  further  harm  than  a 
broken  mud-guard,  we  sped  on  again,  down  the 
winding,  twisting  road,  till  we  came  slowly  to 
the  level  of  the  sea,  and  through  the  noisy,  crowded 
street  to  the  hotel. 

We  stayed  for  a  fortnight  at  Yalta,  a  white 
town  huddled  imtidily  along  the  shore,  a  quay 
crowded  with  overdressed  women,  rich  bankers 
from  Moscow  or  Kieff ,  gaily  dressed  ntirses  and 
babies,  and  in  between  them  a  painted  Tartar 
cart,  a  group  of  brown-faced  peasants,  here  and 
there  a  solemn  oriental  child  with  stiff  braids  of 
hair  under  her  high  gold  cap,  and  great  sombre 
vacant  eyes  staring  out  of  a  round  brown  face. 

And  behind  all  the  bizarre  mixtiu*e  of  Etu*ope 


THE  CRIMEA  53 

and  the  East  the  hills  rose  in  wild  beauty,  miles 
upon  miles  of  forests  filled  with  a  marvel  of  wild 
flowers  of  all  kinds,  great,  swaying  pine-trees  with 
rare  flushed,  amber  trunks,  grey  rocks  that  towered 
up  into  the  clouds.  And  in  their  walled-in  gar- 
dens great  white  palaces  stood  in  silent  majesty, 
and  always  there  was  the  marvel  of  that  sea — 
high  up  in  the  forests  a  glimpse  of  vivid  blue  be- 
tween the  trees — from  the  gardens  of  Livadia  a 
sheet  of  turquoise  above  a  glowing  bed  of  tulips, 
in  the  Bay  of  Ghurziif  huge  waves  that  broke 
against  the  grim,  brown  rocks. 

That  time  in  Yalta  seems  just  a  dream  of  lazy 
golden  days,  of  drives  through  the  whispering 
solitude  of  the  woods,  a  visit  to  some  wonderful 
palace  in  the  midst  of  an  enchanted  garden,  a 
rambling  walk  amongst  the  low  brown  hills  and 
through  strange,  half-savage  Tartar  villages. 

Then  at  last  the  day  came  to  leave,  and  there 
was  the  long  drive  up  the  mountain  through  the 
dark  mystery  of  pine-forests,  with  the  blue  of  the 
sea  sinking  ever  farther  and  [farther  away  into  a 
dim,  dreamlike  distance  till  at  last,  crossing  the 
bleak  summit  of  Aie  Petri,  where  patches  of  snow 
still  lingered,  we  began  the  descent  on  the  other 
side  into  the  green,  fruitful  valley. 

We  stayed  to  Ixmcheon  at  the  wonderful  little 
Tartar  palace  of  Prince  Gusupoff,  set  in  mosaics 
of  dim  greens  and  blues  in  the  middle  of  a  fairy 


54  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

orchard  of  flowering  apple-trees.  Above  the 
wonderful  mass  of  rose-tipped  blossoms  the  blue 
of  the  sky  and  nothing  to  break  the  stillness  but 
the  song  of  innumerable  birds.  It  seemed  a  little 
bit  cut  out  of  the  "Arabian  Nights,"  and  the  Tar- 
tar village  huddled  outside  the  walls,  the  crowd 
of  dark-eyed,  brown-faced  peasants,  the  mosque 
with  its  slender  minaret,  only  added  to  that  sense 
of  some  magic  spell  of  unreality  that  surroimded 
it. 

Reluctantly  we  tore  ourselves  away  and  drove 
across  a  baking,  golden  plain  to  the  ancient  Tartar 
capital  of  Bakschi  Serail  with  its  perfect  old  palace 
of  rose-red  walls.  We  were  received  here  with 
great  pomp  and  ceremony  by  the  mayor  and  the 
governors  and  many  other  solemn  Tartar  digni- 
taries, were  driven  out  to  a  dead  city  of  some  old 
religious  sect,  were  pursued  through  the  ruins  by 
a  barbaric  Tartar  band,  and  in  a  vault-like  hall 
given  strange  and  wonderful  things  to  eat — rose- 
leaf  jam,  hot  honey-cakes,  and  some  delicious 
stuff  like  Devonshire  cream.  Then  after  a  dinner 
in  the  old  palace  of  Bakschi  Serail  we  were  taken 
to  a  mosque  to  see  a  sect  of  dervishes,  strange, 
tiirbaned  figures  sitting  in  a  ring  on  the  floor, 
swaying  backward  and  forward,  ever  faster  and 
faster,  their  voices  rising  to  a  scream  that  echoed 
weirdly  in  the  empty  shadows. 

Then,  at  last,  in  the  blue  darkness  of  the  hot, 


THE  CRIMEA  SS 

still  night,  we  drove  through  the  narrow  winding 
streets  to  the  small  crowded  station,  where  the 
train  and  oiir  special  carriage  waited  for  us — 
and  so  left  behind  us  all  the  heat  and  colour  of 
the  East,  arriving  back  to  find  Petrograd  grey 
under  a  grey,  bleak  sky,  half-drowned  in  a  sea  of 
slowly  melting  snow  and  slush. 


IX 

SUMMER,  1916 

It  was  a  grey  and  rainy  summer,  with  just  one 
fortnight  of  hot  weather,  when  the  long  days 
passed  in  cloudless  splendour,  followed  by  eve- 
nings of  magic;  when  out  on  the  islands  the  trees 
stood  shrouded  in  mystery  against  the  tender 
sky,  and  across  the  water,  smooth  as  glass,  the 
green-painted  boats  stole  to  and  fro  like  silent 
shadows;  and  up  above  the  trees,  where  the 
faint  gold  of  the  sunset  faded  into  palest  green, 
and  so  to  blue,  hung  a  young,  young  moon  whose 
primrose  pallor  was  just  touched  with  rose;  and 
in  the  phantom,  silver-grey  shadows  a  crowd  that 
laughed  and  talked  and  whispered,  and  carriages 
and  motors  and  tumble-down  cabs  that  passed 
up  and  down  and  round  and  round  in  an  endless 
circle  till  the  light  faded  to  a  ghostly,  shadowed 
dawn. 

Sometimes  on  those  summer  evenings  we  went 
out  in  a  little  steam-launch  belonging  to  the 
minister  of  marine's  state  yacht,  and  passing  by 
the  crowded  islands,  steamed  out  into  the  Gulf  of 
Finland.     Behind  the  line  of  the  coast  the  sky 

s6 


SUMMER,   1916  57 

burned  all  dull  rose,  and  as  the  wind  freshened  the 
smoothness  of  the  water  was  broken  into  little 
choppy  waves  of  opal-tinted  grey  that  broke  over 
the  bows  in  clouds  of  spray.  Then  at  about  eleven 
we  turned  homeward,  and  before  us  the  towers  of 
the  town  glimmered  faintly,  with  here  and  there 
on  some  spire  or  dome  a  flash  of  gold.  And  com- 
ing out  of  the  shadows  behind  us,  a  seaplane 
passed  close  over  our  heads,  turned  and  wheeled, 
and  then  came  swooping  down  on  us,  the  sudden 
stopping  of  the  engines  making  a  silence  that 
caught  one's  breath,  till  the  great  wings  met  the 
water,  and  with  a  roar  the  engines  started  again, 
sending  the  bird-like,  fish-like  marvel  forward 
in  a  rush  of  speed  that  left  us  far  behind. 

But  all  too  soon  the  evenings  began  to  draw  in, 
and  when  we  turned  back  toward  the  town,  the 
moon,  all  her  slim,  pale  youthfulness  forgotten, 
swung,  a  great  ball  of  copper,  in  the  faint  mauve 
mist,  and  slowly  as  we  steamed  on,  the  light  on 
the  water  died  and  everywhere  the  damp  lay  low 
in  wreaths  of  ghost-like  mist.  Ever  deeper  grew 
the  shadows,  and  slowly  as  the  moon  rose  above 
the  clouds  she  paled  to  gold,  and  from  some  cheap 
restaurant  along  the  shore  a  brass  band  broke  the 
silence  with  harsh  gaiety. 

Meanwhile  from  all  sides  came  the  complaints 
of  a  people  wearied  by  the  war,  disillusioned,  lost 
in   what  seemed   an  endless  circle   of  mistakes. 


58  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

General  Polivanoff  had  been  replaced  by  a  weak, 
colourless  man  who  did  nothing  to  stem  the  rising 
tide  of  discontent  in  the  army.  Monsieur  Sazo- 
noff ,  who  had  been  minister  of  foreign  affairs  for 
close  on  six  years,  whose  love  for  his  country  and 
for  England  had  helped  draw  the  two  great  na- 
tions together,  was  supplanted  by  Sturmer,  the 
man  with  the  German  name  and  German  sym- 
pathies. 

Food  was  growing  ever  scarcer,  the  queues  out- 
side the  bread-shops  stretched  right  down  the 
length  of  the  streets.  It  was  said  in  all  directions 
that  the  merchants  and  shopkeepers  were  building 
up  huge  profits  at  the  expense  of  the  people. 
Scandal  whispered  even  that  the  Empress  traf- 
ficked with  Germany,  even  the  Emperor  was  no 
longer  held  in  the  same  awe  and  reverence.  Ras- 
putin's power  at  court  seemed  to  increase  every 
day,  his  name  had  become  a  byword,  though  many 
people,  held  in  a  kind  of  superstitious  fear,  dared 
not  pronounce  it,  believing  that  by  so  doing  they 
brought  down  ill  luck  on  their  heads.  "The 
Unmentionable" — "The  Nameless  One" — so  they 
would  whisper  about  him,  with  nervous  glances  be- 
hind them,  as  if  they  feared  even  then  the  power 
of  some  evil  presence. 

And  still  the  endless  trains  of  wounded  and 
sick  came  in.  There  were  advances  and  retreats 
and  long  periods  of  almost  inaction.    The  lack 


SUMMER,   1916  59 

of  ammunition  had  been  slightly  bettered,  but 
still  there  was  not  enough,  or  what  there  was 
did  not  get  to  the  front.  Organization  failed, 
mistakes  were  made  that  caused  a  useless  sacrifice 
of  thousands  of  lives,  more  and  more  every  day 
the  signs  of  trouble  multiplied  and  yet  nothing 
was  done  to  save  the  inevitable  catastrophe. 

Hundreds  of  soldiers,  escaping  from  German 
prisons,  enduring  innumerable  hardships,  braving 
death  and  torture  and  hunger,  returned  to  Russia, 
to  be  herded  together  in  some  great  barrack 
without  a  bed,  with  hardly  enough  food,  with  only 
one  shirt  to  their  back,  to  be  left  there  for  days, 
sometimes  for  weeks,  while  officials  discussed  what 
was  best  to  be  done,  and  in  discussing  forgot  them. 

They  came  in  hundreds  to  the  embassy,  each 
of  them  with  the  same  story  to  tell.  In  England, 
in  Denmark,  in  Sweden  even,  wherever  their 
wanderings  had  led  them  they  had  been  treated 
with  kindness  and  consideration,  but  here  in  their 
own  country,  they  were  received  with  suspicion, 
neglected  and  forgotten.  They  only  wanted  to 
go  back  to  their  village,  just  for  a  week  or  even 
two  days;  then  they  asked  nothing  better  but  to 
go  back  to  the  front  and  have  a  chance  of  killing 
a  few  Germans.  Only  not  to  be  left  in  inaction, 
in  dirt  and  want  and  discomfort.  It  was  not  for 
this  they  had  escaped  from  a  German  prison, 
lying  hidden  all  day  in  a  wood  with  nothing  to  eat 


6o  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

but  grass  and  herbs,  walking  all  through  the  night 
across  an  unknown  country  of  countless  perils, 
or  perhaps  spending  days  in  some  little  boat  on 
the  sea,  not  knowing  where  they  were  drifting, 
buffeted  by  storm  and  wind  and  rain.  It  was 
not  for  this  they  had  fought  in  the  early  days  of 
the  war,  without  sufficient  clothes  in  the  bitter 
cold,  with  only,  perhaps,  one  rifle  between  ten 
men.  Did  we  know  what  that  meant  ?  That 
while  one  man  had  that  rifle  the  other  nine  stood 
behind  him  praying  that  he  might  soon  be  killed 
so  that  their  chance  might  come  to  fire  a  shot. 
It  was  not  for  this  that  they  had  lain  woimded 
on  those  terrible  battle-fields,  alone  and  untended, 
until  f otmd  and  taken  prisoners  by  the  Germans. 
They  would  fight  still  for  the  "Little  Father,'* 
but  they  wanted  to  go  home  first  and  see  their 
wives  and  children  and  the  old  parents  in  the 
village.  Was  there  nothing  we  could  do  for  them  ? 
The  English  were  kind  and  imderstood.  England 
was'  a  great  coimtry. 

It  took  a  long  time  to  get  the  authorities  to  do 
anything  and  even  then  it  was  only  very  little, 
only  very  slowly  that  better  conditions  were  made. 
And  meanwhile  we  gave  them  shirts  and  socks  and 
parcels  of  clothes  to  take  home  when  at  last  they 
were  allowed  to  go,  a  shawl  and  a  brightly 
coloured  handkerchief  for  their  wives,  a  few  little 
frocks  for  their  children.    And  that  they  were 


SUMMER,   1916  6i 

grateful  was  shown  by  the  many  letters  that  came 
every  day  to  my  mother  from  all  parts  of  Russia. 
Letters  rather  touching  in  their  simple  wording, 
that  prayed  for  all  good  to  come  to  her  in  this 
*' white  world"  calling  her  *'Dear  Giver  of  Gifts," 
showing  here  and  there  a  sudden  touch  of  humour 
or  pathos,  giving  a  human  glimpse  of  those  far-off 
Russian  villages.  Telling  how,  when  the  parcel 
or  clothes  had  been  unpacked,  the  children  had 
put  on  the  new  dresses  and  gone  to  church,  and 
how  the  neighbours  had  envied  and  admired  them. 
How  nobody  had  believed  that  they  came  from  a 
great  English  lady.  How  little  Katia  had  asked: 
''But,  father,  why  does  she  send  me  things  when 
she  does  not  know  me  ? "  And  had  been  answered : 
"Because  she  has  a  kind  and  good  heart  and  pities 
the  sorrows  of  the  soldiers."  And  how  they 
prayed  every  day  for  England  and  the  English 
King,  and  the  high  and  gracious  lady  who  had 
been  so  good  to  them. 

The  short  simimer  drew  to  an  end  and  another 
winter  campaign  faced  the  Russian  army  and  the 
tired,  discoiu*aged  soldiers.  And  still  in  all  the 
churches,  in  wayside  chapels,  in  dim  old  cathe- 
drals, hundreds  of  candles  burnt  daily  before  the 
golden  ikons,  and  the  air  seemed  stirred  with  the 
wings  of  prayers  that  hovered  over  the  kneeling 
crowds.  And  perhaps  on  a  distant  field,  in  a 
low,  outlying  trench,  a  soldier  lay  dumb  and  mute 


62  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

beneath  the  cold,  grey  sky,  and  yet  back  in  the 
church  of  some  country  village  a  little  wax  candle 
burnt  every  day  before  his  patron  saint  and  a 
woman  prayed  with  patient  Hps  for  his  return. 


THE  COURT 

And  meanwhile  the  evil  tongues  continued  their 
gossip,  catching  here  and  there  a  shadow  of  truth, 
embroidering  on  it,  exaggerating  it,  and  insinuat- 
ing even  more  terrible  things  that  were  left  unsaid. 

In  great  shadowed  drawing-rooms,  in  the  more 
intellectual  circles,  where  men  with  long  hair  and 
scrubby  beards  gathered  round  tables  to  discuss 
profound  philosophy  over  innumerable  cups  of 
tea,  and  in  smoke-filled  cabarets  in  the  lower 
quarters  of  the  town — everywhere  the  slander 
spread  and  ripened. 

There  was  nothing  bad  or  vile  enough  that  was 
not  insinuated.  The  dark  powers  behind  the 
throne!  German  influence  at  court!  The  sus- 
picion of  a  separate,  treacherous  peace !  The 
power  of  Rasputin !  Infamous  stories  about  the 
Empress !  Scandalous  rumours  about  the  young 
grand  duchesses ! 

Evil  influences  there  were  no  doubt  at  work  and 
yet  they  were  perhaps  not  quite  what  the  world 
imagines.  The  tragedy  is  real  enough,  but  for  its 
cause  one  would  have  to  look  deeper  than  the 

63 


64  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

melodramatic  scandal  that  has  been  spread  broad- 
cast through  the  world.  One  must  look  further 
back,  one  must  take  into  consideration  a  thousand 
causes,  a  thousand,  thousand  reasons.  And  above 
all  one  must  account  for  the  Russian  character 
with  its  childlike  simplicity  and  utterly  bewilder- 
ing complexities.  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  try 
and  judge  them  after  our  own  standards,  just  as 
it  is  impossible  for  us  to  really  understand  them. 

Yet  I  have  heard  people  with  temerity  doing 
both  since  I  got  back  to  England,  and  doing  it 
too  with  a  great  deal  of  arrogance  and  self- 
confidence.  But  when  I  asked  these  same  people 
whether  they  had  ever  been  to  Russia,  they  an- 
swered generally,  '*I  was  there  once  for  a  week" — 
or  still  more  frequently:  **0h,  no — I've  never 
been  there." 

*' Russia  has  betrayed  us!  Russia  has  let  us 
down !  We  really  don't  care  what  happens  to 
Russia!"  How  often  does  one  not  hear  those 
phrases — but  do  the  people  who  say  them  know 
what  Russia  has  suffered?  Do  they  know  all 
the  cause  and  reasons  of  that  terrible  war-weari- 
ness ?  Have  they  lived  in  Russia  those  first  years 
of  the  war,  seen  the  shortage  of  every  kind  of 
ammimition,  the  appalling  suffering  of  the  troops, 
the  heart-breaking  losses  during  those  retreats 
when  the  soldiers,  having  no  guns  with  which  to 
defend  themselves  had  to  fight  with  sticks  and 


THE  COURT  6s 

stones  ?  Have  they  worked  in  the  hospitals  and 
seen  the  wounded  pouring  in,  and  not  even  quarter 
enough  bandages  to  dress  those  terrible  wounds, 
and  no  beds  for  them  to  lie  on,  and  no  sheets  to 
cover  them  ?  Do  they  know  the  fearful  sacrifice 
of  human  life  with  which  each  victory  was  bought  ? 
Do  they  know  of  the  breaking  hearts  that  waited, 
and  perhaps  still  wait — ^for  those  thousands  of 
nameless  dead,  who  gave  their  lives  for  some 
general's  mistake,  and  whose  sacrifice  has  never 
been  recorded  ?  Do  they  know  what  the  gradual 
breakdown  of  the  railways,  the  lack  of  transport, 
the  shortage  of  factories  meant  ?  Have  they  seen 
those  long,  long  queues  of  patient  women  stand- 
ing from  three  on  some  ice-cold  winter  morning 
till  ten  or  eleven  to  obtain  even  the  bare  neces- 
saries of  life  ? 

I  think  hardly  any  other  soldiers  in  the  world 
would  have  endured  what  the  Russian  soldiers 
endured,  or  would  have  fought  under  the  same 
conditions  without  questioning  the  powers  that 
seemed  to  look  on  them,  not  as  an  army  of  human 
men,  but  just  so  many  cattle  whose  sufferings 
were  of  very  little  accoimt  and  whose  lives  were 
of  no  value. 

And  Germany,  with  her  marvellous  organisa- 
tion, knew  how  to  make  Russia's  agony  serve 
her  own  ends,  and  one  can  hardly  wonder  that 
the  Bolsheviks'  promises  of  ''Bread — peace — and 


I 


66  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

freedom**  should  have  tempted  a  people  unedu- 
cated and  untaught  and  worn  out  by  three  years 
of  untold  suffering. 

But  most  assuredly  the  Emperor  never  for  one 
moment  hesitated  in  his  loyalty  to  the  Allies, 
and  his  name  would  never  have  been  signed  on  a 
treaty  of  separate  peace.  Neither  is  it  true  that 
the  Empress  was  in  German  pay  or  worked  for 
German  interests.  Her  one  wish  was  to  hand  the 
autocracy  down  intact  to  her  son,  and  for  this 
reason  she  forced  the  Emperor  to  carry  out  a 
reactionary  policy,  and  chose  ministers  who  would 
help  her  in  this  form  of  government.  And  Ger- 
many used  her  as  an  unconscious  tool,  encourag- 
ing this  government  of  repression  while  they 
preached  revolution  through  all  the  coimtry. 
Protopopoff,  suspected  of  German  sympathies, 
was  allowed  a  free  hand,  and  his  restrictions  of 
the  press  and  general  policy  provoked  the  most 
serious  dissatisfaction.  Stiirmer  was  hated  for  his 
German  name  and  pro-German  influence.  And 
Rasputin,  whose  power  seemed  supreme,  was 
loathed  and  dreaded  throughout  all  Russia.  A 
palace  revolution  was  openly  spoken  of,  and  even 
in  political  drawing-rooms  the  assassination  of  the 
Empress — and,  perhaps,  the  Emperor — was  men- 
tioned as  being  the  only  way  of  saving  Russia. 

Nevertheless,  the  sensational  novels  that  are 
being  published  in  England  have  little  foimdation 


THE  COURT  67 

of  truth.  The  Empress  looked  on  Rasputin  as  a 
saint,  and  believed  that  by  his  prayers  he  would 
save  the  life  of  her  son.  She  was  encouraged  in 
this  belief  by  her  lady  in  waiting  Anna  Kylubova, 
who  had  wormed  herself  into  her  confidence  and 
was  a  devoted  follower  of  Rasputin.  The  life 
the  royal  family  led  at  Czarskoe  was  the  very 
simplest.  Ever  since  the  revolution  of  1905  the 
Empress  had  held  to  an  almost  rigid  seclusion, 
and  had  kept  the  Emperor  apart,  not  allowing 
him  to  come  into  touch  with  his  subjects.  By 
this  and  by  her  stiffness  and  aloofness  she  had 
alienated  all  circles,  and  the  court  of  Russia,  that 
had  been  the  most  brilliant  in  the  world,  was  now 
only  a  forgotten  splendour,  the  myth  of  a  fairy- 
tale. 

The  Emperor's  daughters  were  brought  up 
just  like  English  girls,  and  the  life  they  led  re- 
sembled very  much  the  life  in  some  big,  secluded 
country  house.  They  were  never  seen  in  Petro- 
grad  society,  but,  nevertheless,  entered  whole- 
heartedly into  anything  that  offered  itself  in  the 
way  of  amusement. 

I  copy  here  an  extract  from  a  diary,  of  191 4, 
during  the  visit  of  the  English  fleet  to  Kronstadt 
a  few  short  weeks  before  the  war. 

*'At  the  ball  on  board  the  Lion  and  the  New 
Zealand  I  heard  a  great  deal  about  the  Emperor*s 
daughters.    They  had  been  having  luncheon  on 


68  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

the  Lion  and  every  English  officer  and  middy  in 
the  whole  squadron  seems  to  have  fallen  a  victim 
to  their  charm.  After  lunch  they  seemed  to  have 
explored  the  other  ships  and  the  amount  of  photo- 
graphs they  have  promised  and  the  amount  of 
hearts  they  have  broken  is  really  enormous. 
*What  a  beastly  shame  that  they  weren't  allowed 
to  stay  on  for  the  ball/  as  one  little  middy  said 
to  me  with — ^very  nearly — tears  in  his  blue  eyes.'* 

Through  what  dark  hours  of  danger  and  de- 
spair they  have  passed  since  then !  And,  I  wonder, 
do  they  ever  think  of  that  golden  summer  day, 
and  of  the  great,  grey  ships  on  the  blue  water — 
and  of  the  little  middy  who  spoke  of  them  with 
such  devotion,  and  who  went  down  with  his  ship 
in  the  battle  of  Jutland  ? 

So  completely  had  the  Empress  alienated  the 
country's  feelings  that  when  the  revolution  came 
piteously  few  remained  true  to  the  royal  family. 
But  the  splendid  example  shown  by  Count 
Benckendorff — brother  of  the  late  ambassador  in 
L/Ondon — Prince  Polgoroukoff ,  and  a  few  others 
shows  that  they  never  swerved  for  a  moment  in 
their  devotion  to  the  Emperor.  Both  Count  and 
Coimtess  Benckendorff  shared  the  long,  tedious 
months  of  imprisonment  at  Czarskoe,  and  when 
the  order  came  for  the  removal  to  Siberia,  Count 
Benckendorff,  though  old  and  feeble,  begged  to 
be  allowed   to  follow  the  Emperor  into  exile. 


THE  COURT  69 

Nicholas  II,  however,  refused  to  accept  this  sacri- 
fice, and  Prince  Polgoroukoff  and  one  lady  in 
waiting  were  the  only  ones  to  accompany  the 
royal  family. 

What  they  have  suffered — what  the  end  of 
that  dark  chapter  will  be — History  will  one  day  tell 
us,  and,  perhaps,  then  we  shall  judge  less  harshly 
of  what  was  never  treason,  but  only  a  mistaken 
weakness. 


XI 

THE  MURDER  OF  RASPUTIN 

Very  early  that  year  a  grey,  drizzling  autumn 
set  in,  a  quick  falling  of  yellow  leaves,  now  and 
then  a  -little  flurry  of  snow,  a  whistling  wind 
that  drove  down  the  quay  and  across  the  wide 
squares,  rain  that  beat  itself  against  the  windows, 
half-frozen  ice  drifting  down  the  river  in  thin, 
grey  flakes.  The  little  steamers  fussed  and  hur- 
ried up-stream,  great  stacks  of  wood  were  piled 
along  the  quays,  the  waiting  crowds  before  the 
food-shops  were  larger  than  ever — no  longer  pa- 
tient and  silent,  but  grumbling  and  complaining 
in  ever-growing  dissatisfaction.  It  was  said  that 
in  each  of  these  queues  were  women  paid  by 
German  money  to  incite  the  people  against  the 
war,  whispering  insidious  words  against  the 
Allies,  full  of  plausible  arguments  the  people  were 
only  too  ready  to  believe. 

And  everywhere,  high  and  low,  there  seemed 
a  rising  feeling  of  restlessness,  a  disquiet  that 
shadowed  even  the  most  ordinary  every  day  ac- 
tions, a  discontent  that  would  not  be  kept  hidden. 

Stunner  was  still  in  office  despite  all  the  ru- 
.70 


^  THE  MURDER  OF  RASPUTIN        71 

mours  concerning  his  pro-German  policy,  the 
feeling  against  the  Empress  had  risen  to  an  in- 
tense degree,  the  stories  about  Rasputin  that  were 
freely  repeated  would  hardly  bear  publication. 
And  yet  his  power  seemed  ever  on  the  increase. 
No  warnings  from  friends  or  relatives  seemed  able 
to  shake  the  Empress's  belief  in  him.  Ministers  i 
were  made  or  immade  according  to  his  wish,  his 
advice  was  listened  to  in  everything,  his  house 
was  guarded  day  and  night  by  special  detectives. 

Late  in  December,  at  last,  the  spell  of  that  I 
endless   grey   auttimn   was   broken.     Masses   of  j  <^ 
ice,  drifting  down  the  river  from  the  Ladoga  lake,  ■- 
froze  to  a  dazzling  surface  of  white  purity,  the  ^ 
slush  and  dirt  of  the  streets  was  covered  by  a  ' 
heavy  fall  of  snow,  the  heavy  weight  of  clouds 
was  lifted,  and  the  golden  spires  and  snow-covered 
roofs  shone  beneath  a  clear,  cold  sky. 

And  yet  the  curse  of  some  impalpable  evil  lay 
over  the  town.  The  murder  of  Rasputin  during 
the  night  of  December  29,  instead  of  lifting  that 
shadow,  seemed  only  rather  to  intensify  it,  to  add 
to  the  feeling  of  strained  suspense  which  brooded 
\_oveT  everything. 

Out  of  the  many  stories  circulated  concerning 
that  murder  it  is  almost  impossible  to  know  which 
really  is  the  true  one.  Even  the  facts  related 
by  an  eye-witness  do  not  account  for  everything, 
and  there  is  supposed  to  be  half  an  hour  missing 


72  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

between  the  actual  firing  of  the  last  shot  and  the 
final  removal  of  the  body  that  has  never  been 
accotinted  for  in  any  of  the  narratives. 

Hardly  possible  to  believe,  that  murder,  with 
all  its  details  and  horror,  seems  a  page  out  of 
some  old  Byzantine  history.  All  around,  the 
sleeping  houses,  the  quiet  streets,  now  and  then 
perhaps  a  motor  passing,  a  little  open  sledge 
slipping  silently  like  a  shadow  across  the  snow. 
And  behind  the  sheltered  windows  of  the  great 
yellow  palace  on  the  Moika  a  crime  that  was  to 
save  Russia ! 

For  some  time  past  Prince  Felix  YusupoflE  had 
seen  a  great  deal  of  Rasputin,  wishing  personally 
to  discover  how  far  the  stories  circulated  about 
him  were  true.  The  utter  baseness  and  common- 
ness of  the  man's  character,  the  way  in  which  he 
boasted  about  his  power  at  court  and  his  influence 
over  the  Empress,  decided  him  finally,  at  all  costs, 
to  rid  the  coimtry  of  the  priest's  malignant  in- 
fluence. 

Up  to  the  evening  of  December  29,  Rasputin 
had,  however,  never  been  inside  the  palace  on  the 
Moika,  Prince  YusupofT  always  making  excuses 
whenever  he  had  asked  to  come,  saying  that  his 
mother  did  not  approve  of  his  friendship  with 
him,  and  would  be  very  angry  if  she  knew  that  he 
had  received  him  at  home. 

On  the  evening  of  the  28th,  he,  however,  tele- 


THE  MURDER  OF  RASPUTIN       73 

phoned  saying  that  his  parents  were  away  and  if 
Rasputin  would  come  to  supper  at  his  house  the 
next  night  he  would  fetch  him  in  his  motor  at 
eleven  o'clock.  Rasputin  declined  at  first,  say- 
ing that  he  had  been  warned  not  to  go  out,  but 
finally  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  and  prom- 
ised to  come. 

When,  however,  Prince  Yusupoff  arrived  at  his 
house  the  next  evening  the  priest  met  him  saying 
that  he  had  decided  not  to  go  out  that  night  as 
he  had  again  been  warned  that  there  would  be 
grave  danger  for  him  if  he  did.  Prince  Yusupoff 
argued  that  no  possible  harm  could  come  of  it. 
His  parents  were  away,  no  one  would  know  any- 
thing about  it,  his  own  motor  was  at  the  door  and 
would  take  Rasputin  there  and  bring  him  home 
again.  Some  stories  relate  that  a  woman's  name  , 
was  mentioned,  that  it  was  the  wish  to  see  her  I 
that  finally  induced  Rasputin  to  accept  the  in- 
vitation, and  to  ignore  the  warning  he  had  been 
given,  and  the  promise  he  had  made  to  the  de- 
tectives who  guarded  him,  not  to  go  out  that  eve- 
ning. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  he  accompanied  Prince 
Yusupoff  to  the  big  yellow  palace  on  the  Moika, 
and  was  led  by  him  to  the  dim,  undergroimd 
room,  decorated  in  the  old  Russian  style,  with  a 
small  winding  staircase  that  led  into  another 
room  on  the  floor  above,  where  the  Grand  Duke 


74  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Demitri  Pavlovitch,  Piirishkewitch,  a  doctor,  and 
one  or  two  other  young  men  were  sitting.  On  a 
table  was  spread  out  a  little  repast,  some  tea, 
a  bottle  of  port,  two  plates  of  chocolate,  and  pink 
cream-cakes.  A  harmless-looking  meal,  and  yet 
both  the  port  and  the  pink  cakes  had  been  care- 
fully prepared  beforehand  and  filled  with  a  deadly 
poison. 

Sitting  down  near  the  table,  Prince  Yusupoff 
asked  Rasputin  to  have  some  tea,  but  the  priest 
at  first  refused  and  sat  for  a  long  time  talking 
about  his  future  plans.  Finally  he  poured  him- 
self out  a  cup  of  tea  and  took  a  pink  cake,  and, 
remarking  how  good  it  was,  another  and  another, 
ending  up  by  drinking  glass  after  glass  of  the  port. 
There  was  no  sotmd  to  break  the  silence  of  the 
winter  night,  the  palace  seemed  a  house  of  the 
dead.  Sitting  opposite  that  huge  peasant  priest, 
watching  his  face,  listening  to  his  overbearing 
talk.  Prince  Yusupoff  began  to  wonder  whether 
,  the  man  was  really  mortal,  whether  the  tales  of 
^  his  bearing  a  charmed  life  were  not  true.  How 
was  it  possible  that,  where  another  would  have 
died  after  eating  one  of  those  deadly  poisoned 
cakes,  this  man  could  finish  a  whole  plate,  and 
drink  nearly  a  bottle  of  poisoned  wine  and  yet 
be  sitting  there  immoved,  apparently  completely 
unharmed  ? 
At  last,  in  despair,  Prince  Yusupoff  got  up  and 


THE  MURDER  OF  RASPUTIN       75 

went  up  the  little  winding  stair  to  the  room 
above,  where  the  others  were  waiting  impatiently. 
"What  am  I  to  do?'*  he  asked  almost  wildly. 
*'He  has  eaten  all  the  cakes.  He  has  drunk 
nearly  the  whole  bottle  of  wine  and  nothing  has 
happened." 

After  a  few  moments'  hurried  consultation  the 
Grand  Duke  Demitri  pulled  out  his  revolver  and 
said  he  would  go  down-stairs  and  shoot  him. 
But  Prince  Yusupoff  refused  to  allow  him  to  do 
this  and  finally,  taking  the  revolver  from  him, 
and  holding  it  in  his  left  hand  behind  his  back, 
he  went  down-stairs  again. 

Rasputin  sat  at  the  table  just  in  the  same  place, 
and  sitting  down  opposite  him  Prince  Yusupoff 
took  up  the  conversation  once  more,  watching 
the  monk  all  the  time,  wondering  at  what  part 
of  that  huge  body  he  was  to  aim  and  how  he  was 
ever  going  to  accomplish  it. 

At  last,  feeling  that  the  strain  was  becoming 
impossible,  he  asked  Rasputin  to  look  at  a  won- 
derful old  crystal  crucifix  which  htmg  on  the 
wall.  Getting  up  slowly  the  priest  went  across 
the  room  to  examine  it  and,  following  him.  Prince 
Yusupoff  slipped  his  right  hand  behind  his  back 
and  taking  his  revolver  shot  straight  at  his  heart. 

With  a  scream  Rasputin  fell  forward  on  the 
floor,  and,  going  over  to  the  staircase,  Prince  Yusu- 
poff shouted  to  the  others  to  come  down.     Hastily 


76  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

making  an  examination,  the  doctor  declared  that 
the  death  agony  had  begun  and  all  would  be  over 
in  a  few  seconds,  and,  going  up-stairs  again,  they 
began  to  make  arrangements  for  getting  the 
motor  roimd  and  taking  away  the  body. 

And  yet  all  the  time  Prince  Yusupoff  felt  that 
something  was  not  right,  that  something  kept 
drawing  him  down-stairs,  and  presently,  the  feel- 
ing getting  too  strong  for  him,  he  left  the  others 
and  returned  alone  to  the  undergroimd  room. 

The  huge  form  of  the  priest  lay  exactly  as  they 
had  left  it,  half  lying  on  a  beautiful  white  bear-skin 
rug  that  was  stretched  on  the  floor.  For  a  few 
minutes  Prince  Yusupoff  stood  motionless  looking 
down  at  it,  then  with  a  sudden  sense  of  horror 
he  saw  how  first  one  eye  slowly  opened  and  then 
the  other.  And  as  he  still  stood,  too  paralysed 
to  move,  Rasputin  roused  himself  and  with  a 
sudden  inhtiman  strength  threw  himself  upon 
him,  screaming  out  the  most  awful  curses. 

So  fiuious  was  the  priest's  mad  assault  that 
Prince  Yusupoff  was  nearly  borne  to  the  ground, 
and  before  he  could  recover  himself  or  the  others, 
attracted  by  the  sudden  noise,  cotild  get  down- 
stairs, Rasputin  had  made  for  a  small  door  lead- 
ing into  an  outer  court,  and  tearing  it  open,  stag- 
gered out  into  the  darkness. 

Pursuing  him,  they  found  him  at  last  climbing 
the  railings  of  the  garden,  and,  pulling  out  his 


THE  MURDER  OF  RASPUTIN       77 

revolver,  Purishkewitch  fired  at  him  and  hit  him 
mortally. 

The  police,  attracted  by  the  sound  of  the  shots, 
appeared  at  the  gates  and  demanded  an  explana- 
tion, and,  hastily  covering  the  body  of  the  priest 
with  some  snow  Prince  Yusupoff  opened  to  them, 
and  telling  them  that  One  of  the  guests  at  a  sup- 
per-party he  was  giving  had  shot  a  mad  dog,  gave 
them  a  hundred  roubles  to  go  away,  which  they 
accordingly  did. 

A  little  later  a  closed  motor  drew  up  at  a  side 
door,  something  wrapped  in  a  dark  cloth  was 
placed  inside,  and  before  the  police,  their  suspi- 
cions again  aroused,  could  arrive  on  the  scene,  the 
motor  swung'  away  into  the  darkness. 


XII 

THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  STORM 

The  morning  of  December  30  a  soldier,  passing 
across  the  Petrowsky  bridge  leading  out  to  the 
islands,  saw  tracks  of  blood  on  the  snow,  and, 
after  a  prolonged  search,  a  body  was  found  tmder- 
neath  the  ice  and  transported  to  the  mortuary, 
where  it  was  discovered  to  be  the  body  of  Ras- 
putin. 

The  excitement  caused  was  intense,  the  murder 
was  the  one  topic  of  conversation,  and  the  wildest, 
most  contradictory  rimiours  were  circulated.  One 
story  had  it  that  the  Empress  herself,  dressed  as 
a  Sister  of  Charity,  went  to  the  mortuary  to  see 
the  body,  another  story,  on  the  contrary,  declared 
that,  on  hearing  the  news,  she  had  fallen  into  a 
dead  faint  and  remained  imconscious  for  twenty- 
two  hours,  but  neither  of  these  stories  can  be 
vouched  for  as  being  in  the  least  authentic. 

Reports  as  to  how  the  murder  was  actually 
committed  differed  also  in  the  wildest  degree, 
and  those  who  had  been  present  refused  stead- 
fastly to  throw  any  light  on  the  situation. 

Prince  Yusupoff ,  telephoning  to  the  Grand  Duke 
Nicholas  Michaelevitch  at  the  Yacht  Club,  said 

78 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  STORM  79 

only,  "I  have  been  accused  of  murdering  Ras- 
putin because  last  night  at  a  supper-party  at  my 
house  a  black  dog  went  mad  and  had  to  be  shot," 
and  preserved  a  stubborn  silence  when  questioned 
further  as  to  the  doings  of  the  night.  The  Grand 
Duke  Demitri  swore  oh  his  oath  that  he  had  not 
committed  the  murder,  but  was,  nevertheless,  by 
order  of  the  Empress,  placed  imder  arrest  in  his 
palace  on  the  Nevsky  Prospect. 

Returning  from  the  Staff,  the  Grand  Duke  Paul 
begged  the  Emperor  to  give  his  son  back  his  free- 
dom, but  the  only  reply  he  got  was:  "The  Em- 
press cannot  allow  him  to  be  released."  And 
when  he  asked,  that  at  least  his  son  might  be 
allowed  to  come  down  to  his  palace  at  Czarskoe, 
this  request  was  also  categorically  refused,  and 
on  the  night  of  January  2,  the  young  grand  duke, 
without  being  allowed  to  make  any  preparations, 
was  sent  off  to  a  small  village  on  the  Persian 
frontier.  So  hurried  was  his  departure  that  he 
did  not  have  time  to  take  any  provisions  with  him, 
and  the  special  train  had  been  given  orders  not 
to  stop  an3rwhere,  so  that  he  was  forced  to  travel 
for  two  days  without  any  food  or  drink. 

Meanwhile  the  body  of  Rasputin  was  buried  in 
the  park  of  Czarskoe,  and  it  was  affirmed  that  the 
Emperor  and  Protopopoff  carried  the  coffin,  while 
the  Empress  followed  behind  with  the  Czarevitch. 

Protopopoff  was  now  minister  of  the  interior, 


8o  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

a  small,  grey-haired  man,  with  restless,  nervous 
movements  and  bright,  wild  eyes  that  shifted  all 
the  time.  A  follower  of  Rasputin,  and  certainly 
not  quite  sane,  he  played  on  the  Empress's  feeHngs, 
affirming  constantly  that  the  priest  had  appeared 
to  him  in  person  warning  him  that  great  trouble 
w^s  coming  to  Russia,  and  that  the  people  would 
be  ptmished  for  his  murder. 

The  treatment  of  the  Grand  Duke  Demitri 
had  aroused  a  storm  of  indignation,  the  feeling 
against  the  court  was  rising  every  day.  The 
Grand  Duke  Alexander  Michaelevitch  went  to 
the  Emperor  warning  him  of  the  consequence  if 
something  was  not  done  to  arrest  the  course  of 
events,  and  a  new  government  formed  with  a  few 
good  men  having  the  confidence  of  the  people. 
But  the  Emperor  remained  obdurate  and  replied 
only  that  he  could  do  nothing  without  consulting 
the  Empress. 

On  January  ii,  the  grand  dukes  and  grand 
duchesses  held  a  meeting  and  sent  a  signed  peti- 
tion to  the  Emperor  begging  him  to  release  the 
Grand  Duke  Demitri.  The  letter  was  returned 
with  a  few  curt  words,  saying  that  no  one  had 
the  right  to  take  away  life,  written  across  the 
comer,  and  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas  Michaele- 
vitch, at  whose  palace  the  meeting  had  been  held, 
was  exiled  to  one  of  his  estates  in  the  south  of 
Russia. 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  STORM  8i 

On  the  1 2th  of  January  my  father  had  an  audi- 
ence with  the  Emperor  and  implored  him  to  con- 
sider what  he  was  doing,  telling  him  that  he  had 
come  to  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and  that  it  rested 
with  him  either  to  lead  Russia  to  victory  and  a 
permanent  peace  or  to  revolution  and  disaster. 
The  Emperor  replied  that  my  father  very  much 
exaggerated  the  seriousness  of  the  situation  and 
that  he  could  count  on  the  army  to  support  him 
in  any  crisis.  At  the  end  of  the  audience  he, 
however,  shook  my  father's  hand  and  thanked 
him  for  all  he  had  said,  but,  apparently  again  fall- 
ing under  the  Empress's  influence,  he  continued 
to  allow  her  full  power  and  the  situation  grew 
daily  more  acute. 

In  the  Duma,  which  had  reassembled  on  Novem- 
ber 14,  Monsieiu*  Miliukoff  had  made  a  scathing 
attack  on  Sturmer,  and  the  latter,  finding  his 
position  tmdermined,  shortly  afterward  tendered 
his  resignation.  He  was  succeeded  as  prime 
minister  by  Trepoff,  who,  though  a  reactionary, 
was  honestly  determined  to  see  the  war  through, 
and  as  minister  of  foreign  affairs  by  Pokroffsky, 
who  had  up  to  then  held  the  important  post  of 
comptroller  of  the  empire.  Though  Sturmer  had 
gone,  Protopopoff,  whose  head  had  been  turned 
by  his  sudden  rise  to  power,  still  remained,  and 
Trepoff,  who  found  himself  hampered  at  every 
turn  by  the  baneful  influence  of  the  all-powerful 


82  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

minister  of  the  interior,  endeavoured  to  induce 
the  Emperor  to  a  reconstruction  of  the  cabinet. 
In  the  end,  however,  it  was  TrepoflE  and  not 
Protopopoff  who  had  to  go,  and  after  holding 
office  for  six  weeks  he  was  replaced  by  Prince 
Golitzin,  a  member  of  the  Extreme  Right. 

After  the  murder  of  Rasputin,  the  Empress's 
heart  was  hardened  and  she  held  firmly  to  her 
determination  to  give  no  concessions  to  the  peo- 
ple, a  course  of  action  in  which  she  was  supported 
by  Protopopoff  who  w^as  becoming  daily  more 
insane,  and  assured  her  that  she  alone  could  save 
Russia,  declaring  even  at  one  of  his  audiences 
with  her  that  he  saw  the  figure  of  the  Saviour 
behind  her  chair. 

The  arrival  of  the  Allied  missions  in  the  early 
part  of  February  placed  the  internal  political 
questions  for  a  moment  in  the  background,  and 
in  between  the  conferences  and  sittings  a  rush  of 
sudden  gaiety  swept  over  the  town.  Court  car- 
riages with  beautifully  groomed  horses  and  the 
crimson  and  gold  of  the  imperial  liveries  passed 
up  and  down  the  streets.  An  endless  stream  of 
motors  stood  out  at  all  hours  of  the  day  before 
the  H6tel  d'Europe,  where  the  missions  had  been 
lodged.  Dinners  and  dances  took  place  every 
night,  the  big  royal  box  at  the  ballet  was  filled 
with  French,  English,  and  Italian  imiforms.  For 
a  brief  moment  it  seemed  to  the  unheeding  world 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  STORM  83 

as  if  the  shadow  that  lay  so  darkly  on  the  horizon 
had  been  lifted,  or,  if  it  was  still  there,  people 
shut  their  eyes  to  it  with  a  careless  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  and  an  all-too-ready  easiness  of  putting 
away  unpleasant  thoughts. 

But  after  the  departure  of  the  Allied  missions 
the  cloud  gathered  again  more  darkly  than  ever. 
The  Duma  was  to  be  reassembled  the  end  of  Febru- 
ary, and  some  anxiety  was  felt  as  to  whether 
there  would  not  be  serious  riots  on  the  date  of  its 
opening.  Protopopoff ,  however,  assured  the  Em- 
peror that  all  measures  had  been  taken  to  quell 
any  rising  of  the  people.  Machine-gims  had  been 
secretly  placed  on  the  roofs  of  all  the  big  build- 
ings, and  the  police  had  instructions  to  fire  on  the 
people,  and  clear  the  streets  of  any  crowds  that 
assembled. 

The  bread  shortage  was  reaching  a  critical 
point  and  the  complaints  of  the  people  increased, 
yet  the  Dirnia  was  assembled  in  perfect  quiet 
and  not  a  shot  was  fired.  My  father  who  had 
waited  for  its  opening  went  to  Finland  the  next 
day  for  a  week's  leave,  and  I  had  already  gone  to 
stay  with  a  friend  in  the  Baltic  provinces.  It  was 
just  a  square-built  red  house  in  a  clearing  among 
miles  of  forest,  all  roimd  the  imtrodden  purity  of 
the  snow,  the  voiceless  quiet  of  pine-woods,  the 
frozen  sleep  of  dozens  of  little  lakes.  The  war, 
and   all   the  many  anxieties   and  troubles,   the 


84  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

treachery  and  intrigue,  seemed  to  belong  to  an- 
other world— this  world  was  all  white  and  blue 
and  gold,  and  there  seemed  no  shadow  to  dim  the 
radiance  of  the  sunshine.  Long  mornings  spent 
trying  to  ski,  long  afternoons  driving  through 
those  imending  woods  all  sunk  in  the  breathless 
stillness  of  winter,  now  and  then  the  sledge  up- 
set into  a  ditch,  a  laughing  extrication  of  legs  and 
arms  and  cushions,  a  retiun  through  the  blue 
twilight  to  the  house  with  the  golden  glow  of 
lighted  windows  beckoning  a  welcome  across  the 
snow. 

And  already  in  Petrograd  the  storm  was  gather- 
ing, and  on  Thtu-sday  evening,  March  8,  a  bread- 
shop  in  a  poorer  quarter  of  the  town  was  looted, 
and  the  first  little  band  of  Cossacks  patrolled  the 
Nevsky. 


XIII 
MONDAY,   MARCH  12 

On  the  Sunday,  March  ii,  the  revolution  had 
begun  in  earnest.  By  order  of  the  government 
posters  were  stuck  up  at  all  the  street  comers  for- 
bidding any  more  demonstrations.  Nearly  a 
hundred  imarmed  people  were  shot  down  on  the 
Nevsky.  Rodzianko,  telegraphing  to  the  Em- 
peror, begged  him  to  invest  some  one  who  enjoyed 
the  confidence  of  the  people  with  power  to  form  a 
new  government,  adding  that  no  time  must  be 
lost,  as  any  delay  might  be  fatal.  It  has  since 
been  ascertained  that  this  telegram  never  reached 
the  Emperor,  but  was  stopped  by  General  Voyei- 
kov,  commander  of  the  palace;  and  that  evening 
the  government,  hopelessly  imdecided  how  to 
deal  with  the  situation,  finally  settled  to  prorogue 
the  Duma,  whereupon  some  of  the  members, 
shutting  themselves  up  in  a  separate  room,  refused 
to  be  prorogued  and  elected  a  provisional  com- 
mittee of  their  own. 

In  the  coimtry  we  knew  nothing  of  the  events 
of  the  past  few  days,  no  news  having  reached  us 
from  the  outside  world,  and  the  papers  only  saying 

8s 


86  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

that  a  few  shops  had  been  looted,  and  that  some 
of  the  workmen  in  the  factories  were  striking.  But 
we  had  settled  to  return  to  Petrograd  on  Sunday- 
night,  and  swallowing  down  our  dinner  hurriedly, 
we  left  the  warmth  of  the  lighted  hall  with  its 
comfortable  chairs  and  blazing  fire,  and  packed 
ourselves  into  the  waiting  sledge.  The  servants, 
standing  shivering  by  the  lighted  door,  bowed 
their  farewells,  the  huge  fur  rug  was  fastened 
firmly  roimd  us,  the  coachman,  muffled  in  his 
shapeless  coat,  shook  the  reins,  and  with  a  sudden 
silver  jingle  of  bells,  we  started  off. 

There  was  no  moon,  but  the  deep  darkness  of 
the  sky  was  sown  with  stars,  and  the  pure- white 
stretches  of  snow  gleamed  like  sheets  of  silver  on 
either  side.  On  and  on  we  drove  through  the 
breathless  silence,  down  the  winding  road,  past 
the  frozen  lakes,  through  the  blue  darkness  of  the 
woods.  Here  and  there  the  little  wooden  houses 
standing  back  from  the  road  seemed,  with  their 
windows  gleaming  orange  in  the  darkness,  like 
the  huts  of  some  witch  or  magician,  weaving  spells 
for  good  or  evil  over  the  leaping  fire. 

Then,  at  last,  the  lights  of  the  little  station, 
the  waiting-room  full  of  soldiers  and  peasants  in 
evil-smelling  sheepskins,  the  hoot  and  whistle  of 
the  engine.  The  train,  coming  from  Reval,  was 
full  to  overflowing,  even  the  corridors  packed 
with  people  sleeping  on  stools  or  on  the  floor, 


MONDAY,  MARCH  12  87 

but  the  head  of  the  district  police  had  reserved 
us  a  compartment,  and  Httle  knowing  it  was  the 
last  time  we  should  be  allowed  such  privileges,  we 
locked  our  door  and  settled  down  for  the  night. 

We  arrived  at  Petrograd  the  next  morning  at  a 
quarter  to  eight,  the  train  being  for  a  wonder 
only  ten  minutes  late.  The  big  dark  station  wore 
somehow  a  disturbed  and  somewhat  perturbed 
air,  and  the  sight  of  one  of  the  English  officers  in 
full  tmiform  caused  us  a  little  alarm.  *'I  have 
come  to  meet  you,"  he  told  us,  "because  there 
have  been  riots  here  the  last  two  days  and  the 
police  won't  let  motors  go  about  without  a  pass." 

With  all  our  luggage  dumped  on  the  platform 
we  stood  shivering  in  the  cold  of  that  bitter  winter 
morning.  "The  maid  had  better  bring  on  the 
things  in  a  cab,"  I  said,  "and  we  can  all  go  to- 
gether in  the  motor." 

* '  There  are  no  cabs, '  *  I  was  told  gently.  *  *  They 
have  all  gone  out  on  strike." 

"Can't  the  two  maids  go  in  a  tram  ?"  my  friend 
suggested,  "and  then  we  can  take  the  luggage 
with  us." 

"There  are  no  trams,"  came  the  same  answer 
decisively.  "We  shall  have  to  get  everything  into 
the  motor  somehow  or  other." 

The  other  passengers  were  now  all  crowded  on 
the  station  steps,  some  of  them  sitting  discon- 
solately on  their  boxes,   others  talking  in  ex- 


88  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

cited  voices,  arguing  with  the  porters,  who  only 
shrugged  their  shoulders  and  repeated  stolidly 
that  there  were  no  cabs.  One  man,  more  energetic 
than  the  others,  had  managed  to  get  hold  of  a 
little  hand-sledge,  and  having  piled  his  luggage 
on  it  was  pulling  it  along,  his  wife — a  pretty,  fair- 
haired  woman  wrapped  in  furs — ^walking  by  his 
side. 

At  last  the  three  of  us  with  our  various  bags  and 
wraps,  the  English  officer,  the  two  maids  and  the 
rest  of  the  luggage  managed  to  crowd  into  the 
motor,  leaving  the  other  passengers  gazing  after 
us  enviously. 

Hardly  four  yards  away  we  passed  a  tram  with 
all  its  windows  broken,  standing  desolate  on  the 
lines.  A  few  minutes  farther  on  a  soldier  with 
a  rifle  and  bayonet  stopped  us,  and  then  after  a 
prolonged  conversation  allowed  us  to  continue  on 
our  way. 

In  the  bleak,  grey  light  of  that  early  morning 
the  town  looked  inexpressibly  desolate  and  de- 
serted, the  bare,  ugly  street  leading  up  from  the 
station  with  the  dirty  stucco  houses  on  either 
side  seemed,  after  the  snow-white  peace  of  the 
country,  somehow  the  very  acme  of  dreariness. 
The  few  soldiers  we  passed  eyed  us  suspiciously; 
here  and  there  a  woman  with  a  shawl  over  her 
head  hurried  along,  looking  furtively  round  as  if 
she  feared  at  every  comer  some  hidden  danger. 


MONDAY,  MARCH  12  89 

But  beyond  that  the  streets  seemed  completely 
empty,  nearly  all  the  shops  were  boarded  up,  not 
a  face  showed  at  the  windows  of  any  of  the  houses. 

Avoiding  the  big  thoroughfares  of  the  Nevsky 
and  the  Moskaia,  we  made  a  d6tour  by  St.  Isaac's 
and  drove  back  along  the  quay.  One  solitary 
policeman  with  a  white,  set  face  watched  us  pass 
but  made  no  movement  to  stop  us.  A  strange 
spell  of  silence  and  dread  lay  over  the  frozen 
river,  the  palaces  all  along  the  quay  seemed  to 
be  holding  their  breath  in  a  terrible  suspense,  on 
the  opposite  shore  the  fortress  with  the  imperial 
flag  fluttering  against  the  iron-grey  sky  looked 
grim  and  desolate,  the  huge  bridge  spanning  the 
river  was  absolutely  empty. 

My  father  and  mother  had  returned  from  Fin- 
land the  day  before,  and  met  me  at  the  embassy 
with  obvious  relief,  and  a  very  little  later  the 
breathless  silence,  that  had  been  so  intense  and 
almost  uncanny  when  we  drove  through  the  town, 
was  broken  and  the  first  real  fighting  began. 

Not  very  far  away  from  us  the  soldiers  of  the 
Preobrajinsky  regiment  turned  out  and  shot  their 
officers,  while  on  the  other  side  the  military  arsenal 
was  stormed  and  the  rifles,  guns,  and  ammimition 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  people. 

Shut  up  now  in  the  house  and  forbidden  to  go 
out,  I  think  I  spent  most  of  my  time  that  morning 
sitting  on  the  big  staircase  of  the  embassy  gleaning 


90  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

what  information  I  could  from  the  various  people 
who  came  and  went.  Up  till  now  nobody  had 
quite  believed  in  the  seriousness  of  the  situation, 
but  by  eleven  that  morning  people  began  to  reaHse 
that  what  was  happening  was  more  than  a  rising 
for  food  and  bread,  more  than  the  going  out  on 
strike  of  the  workmen  of  a  few  factories,  more 
than  the  desultory  shooting  of  a  few  policemen. 

The  regiments  sent  out  against  the  people 
joined  them  one  by  one.  At  eleven  the  law-courts 
situated  on  the  Liteinia  Prospect  were  set  on  fire, 
a  barricade  of  machine-guns  was  placed  in  front  of 
them,  and  the  whole  street  became  a  kind  of 
battle-field.  We  could  hear  the  firing  in  the  dis- 
tance, but  round  near  us  it  was  still  fairly  quiet, 
though  it  was  a  quiet  that  held  a  sense  of  unrest 
and  dread. 

In  the  afternoon  a  few  English  ladies,  braving 
the  very  real  dangers  of  the  streets,  came  to  the 
weekly  sewing-party  and  sat  talking  in  hushed 
voices  of  what  might  be  the  result  of  all  this. 
The  news  that  the  Duma  had  been  prorogued 
the  evening  before,  and  that  some  of  the  mem- 
bers had  elected  a  committee  of  their  own,  had 
filtered  through,  though  nobody  yet  knew  for 
certain  the  names  on  that  committee. 

A  little  later  in  the  afternoon  the  first  motor- 
lorries,  with  which  we  were  afterward  to  become 
so  very  familiar,  passed  across  the  bridge  in  front 


MONDAY,  MARCH  12  91 

of  us,  filled  with  soldiers,  and  here  and  there  a 
woman  with  a  handkerchief  tied  round  her  head, 
or  a  sister  of  charity,  her  white  veil  fluttering  in 
the  breeze. 

Occasionally  one  could  hear  little  bursts  of 
firing  in  the  distance,  and  news  was  brought  us 
that  the  fortress,  after  very  little  resistance, 
had  surrendered  to  the  people  and  that  all  the 
police-stations  in  the  town  were  being  raided  and 
burnt.  More  and  more  motor-lorries  began  to 
pass,  and  the  sotmd  of  firing  seeming  to  become 
more  persistent,  mother  sent  the  English  ladies 
home  early  while  it  was  still  quite  light. 

It  is  ctuious  how  sometimes  quite  little  things 
stand  out  in  one's  mind,  and  of  all  that  day  of 
tremendous  happenings  there  is  just  one  par- 
ticular incident  I  can  see  most  clearly.  The  grey 
daylight  was  giving  place  to  a  greyer,  bleaker 
dusk,  but  as  yet  no  street-lamps  had  been  lit, 
and  three  or  four  huge  motor-lorries  drawn  up 
at  the  comer  in  front  of  our  house  looked  like 
huge  shadowy  monsters,  the  gims  of  the  soldiers 
that  filled  them  pointing  darkly  against  the  sky. 
Quite  what  it  was  they  were  expecting  I  don't 
know,  but  after  they  had  stood  there  for  some 
time  the  solitary  figure  of  a  Cossack  rode  up  the 
quay  toward  them,  and  braving  all  the  rifles  im- 
mediately pointed  at  him,  stood  still  to  argue  out 
some  point  we  were  too  far  off  to  hear.    What- 


92  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

ever  it  was,  it  ended  abruptly  in  a  sudden  out- 
burst of  angry  voices,  and  the  sharp  crack  of  a 
shot  as  a  soldier  in  one  of  the  motors  let  off  his 
gun.  Near  as  the  range  was,  he  evidently  missed 
his  aim,  for  the  Cossack  wheeled  his  horse  roimd, 
and  bending  low  in  the  saddle,  made  off  down  the 
quay,  the  snow  rising  in  a  silver  cloud  beneath 
his  horses*  flying  feet.  An  angry  outbiu-st  of 
firing  followed  him,  then  the  soldiers  in  the  lor- 
ries shrugged  their  shoulders,  and,  after  a  few 
moments*  indecision,  drove  off  in  the  opposite 
direction  to  find  something,  perhaps,  more  worthy 
of  their  attention. 

Darkness  settled  on  the  town,  but  all  during 
the  night  the  firing  continued.  From  a  house 
almost  opposite  us  came  the  sharp  bark  of  a 
machine-gun,  a  sound  that  came  to  an  end  with 
a  startling  suddenness,  as  the  police  officer  hidden 
up  on  the  roof  was  foimd  and  killed  by  the  sol- 
diers. Once  or  twice  armoured  cars  swung  across 
the  bridge  engaged  in  a  mimic  battle,  which 
generally  ended  in  either  one  or  the  other  scuttling 
away  into  the  darkness,  leaving  the  victory  tin- 
decided. 

Rodzianko,  meanwhile,  had  sent  another  tele- 
gram to  the  Emperor  in  which  he  begged  him  to 
take  immediate  steps,  adding:  ''The  last  hour 
has  come  in  which  to  decide  the  fate  of  the 
country  and  the  dynasty.'* 


MONDAY,   MARCH  12  93 

But  again  no  answer  came  from  Nicholas  II, 
who,  kept  in  ignorance  by  those  around  him  of  the 
true  state  of  affairs  and  beHeving  the  whole  thing 
to  be  a  riot  it  needed  only  a  strong  hand  to  re- 
press, commanded  General  Ivanoff  to  proceed 
with  an  army  to  Petrograd  and  put  down  the 
disorder. 


XIV 

THE  EMPEROR'S  ABDICATION 

One  woke  on  the  Tuesday  morning  with  a 
feeUng  that  all  that  had  happened  on  the  previous 
day  must  be  a  dream,  and  it  was  not  till  the  sharp 
crack  of  a  rifle  just  outside  made  me  go  to  the 
window  that  I  was  really  sure  that  I  wasn't  still 
asleep.  The  great  square  in  front  had  an  in- 
describable desolate  air,  the  tram-lines  were 
blocked  up  with  snow,  not  a  cart  or  a  cab  of  any 
kind  was  to  be  seen,  to  the  right  across  the  frozen 
river  the  fortress  stood  bleak  and  grey  with  no 
flag  fluttering  against  the  sky  to  give  a  sign  of 
life.  Bands  of  workmen  and  soldiers  were  com- 
ing across  the  bridge  in  small  companies  of  three 
or  four,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  I  watched  them 
that  already  something  had  changed  about  those 
splendid,  well-drilled  soldiers,  that  there  was  a 
looseness  and  a  slackness  even  about  the  way 
they  walked  that  had  not  been  there  before. 
They  carried,  both  workmen  and  soldiers,  a 
motley  collection  of  every  kind  of  weapon.  One 
or  two  had  officers'  swords  buckled  on,  some  car- 
ried two  rifles  tied  on  with  a  bit  of  string,  others 

94 


THE  EMPEROR'S  ABDICATION      95 

had  huge  pistols  stuck  in  their  belt.  A  boy  of 
not  more  than  sixteen  was  carrying  one  rifle  slung 
across  his  shoulder  and  brandishing  another  as  he 
walked  along,  and  occasionally,  just  apparently 
for  the  pure  joy  of  the  thing,  firing  into  the  air 
in  an  aimless,  light-hearted  way.  Now  and  then 
motor-lorries,  bristHng  with  soldiers  and  rifles, 
like  enormous  hedgehogs  decked  with  huge  red 
flags,  lumbered  past,  and,  as  the  day  wore  on,  one 
began  to  see  private  cars,  that  had  evidently  been 
commandeered,  filled  with  a  motley  crowd  of 
soldiers,  sailors,  and  workmen,  two  men,  perhaps, 
lying  on  the  mud-guards  with  their  fingers  on  the 
triggers  of  their  rifles,  and  very  often  the  back 
window  broken  with  the  wicked-looking  nose  of 
a  machine-gim  sticking  through  the  opening. 

That  same  morning  the  Astoria,  the  military 
hotel  of  the  town,  was  stormed  and  taken  by  the 
revolutionary  troops.  During  the  night  the  place 
had  been  searched  and  the  general  at  the  head 
had  given  his  word  that  there  were  no  arms  hidden 
in  the  hotel.  But  at  nine  the  next  morning  when 
a  regiment  marched  past  with  a  band  playing,  a 
sudden  volley  of  shots  was  fired  at  them  from  the 
roof  of  the  hotel  and,  maddened,  the  soldiers 
stormed  the  building,  breaking  the  big  plate- 
glass  windows  with  the  butt  end  of  their  rifles  to 
force  an  entrance.  All  the  Russian  officers  re- 
siding in  the  hotel  were  arrested,  and  an  old 


96  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

general  who  tried  to  fire  on  the  soldiers  was  killed 
in  the  hall.  For  a  few  moments  it  seemed  as  if 
the  whole  place  would  be  ruined,  and  it  was  ow- 
ing to  the  calmness  and  presence  of  mind  of  the 
English  and  French  missions  that  the  women  an-d 
children  were  got  safely  away  and  that  the  build- 
ing was  not  completely  demolished. 

At  midday  the  admiralty,  which  had  held  out 
against  a  determined  siege  all  during  the  night 
and  morning,  was  forced  at  last  to  surrender,  a 
message  being  sent  from  the  fortress  that  if  they 
did  not  give  in  within  twenty  minutes,  the  big 
guns  would  be  used  and  the  whole  building  razed 
to  the  ground.  Knowing  what  incalculable  dam- 
age such  an  event  would  mean  to  the  fleet,  Admiral 
Grigorovitch  finally  decided  to  give  himself  up 
into  the  hands  of  the  revolutionary  troops,  who, 
though  they  divested  him  of  his  office,  treated 
him  with  every  consideration.  He  had  been 
minister  of  marine  all  the  time  of  our  stay  in 
Russia,  and  many  times  had  shown  us  great 
kindness.  A  tall,  dignified,  grey-haired  man  with 
a  grave  face  and  deep,  sad,  mournful  dark  eyes, 
his  whole  heart  was  bound  up  in  the  navy,  and  an 
English  officer  who  saw  him  four  months  after 
the  revolution  told  me  that  he  was  hardly  to  be 
recognised,  so  aged  and  worn  had  he  become, 
so  utterly  heart-broken  at  the  ruin  of  the  fleet. 

All  during  that  Tuesday  the  fighting  in  the  town 


THE  EMPEROR'S  ABDICATION      97 

continued.  The  state  prisons  were  sacked  and 
burned  and  all  the  prisoners  set  free.  Several  of 
the  regiments  had  arrived  from  Czarskoe  and  had 
immediately  gone  over  to  the  people,  as  had  the 
troops  of  General  Ivanoff ,  but  some  of  the  police 
still  held  the  roofs  with  their  machine-guns,  and 
it  was  against  them  that  the  chief  animosity  of 
the  crowd  was  directed.  Cruel  and  tyrannical 
as  they  had  been,  one  can't  help  feeling  a  stirring 
of  pity  and  admiration  for  these  men  who,  stick- 
ing to  the  posts  they  had  been  given  by  a  minister 
who,  having  volimtarily  submitted  himself  pris- 
oner to  the  Duma,  was  already  addressing  the 
young  advocate  Kerensky  as  "Excellency,"  were 
the  only  ones  to  hold  out  against  irresistible 
odds.  Nearly  a  week  after  the  revolution,  in 
the  attic  above  Faberge's  shop  on  the  Moskaia, 
the  body  of  a  policeman  was  found,  who  evi- 
dently died  by  his  gun  of  cold  and  starvation. 
Many  others  were  caught  by  the  crowd  and 
tortured  and  murdered,  many  died  fighting  at 
their  posts,  just  a  few  escaped,  and  I  remember 
almost  the  last  week  I  was  in  Petrograd  recognis- 
ing an  old  police  sergeant  who,  covered  with 
orders,  had  always  held  guard  on  the  quay  be- 
fore the  palace,  sweeping  the  steps  of  a  shop  on 
the  Nevsky. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Tuesday,  March  13,  the 
house  of  Count  Fredericks,  who  had  been  the 


98  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Emperor^s  right-hand  man,  was  looted  and  burned 
to  the  ground.  Here  the  cruelty  of  the  crowd 
showed  itself  to  its  full  degree,  and  when  the 
frightened  servants  tried  to  lead  the  horses  from 
the  burning  stables  they  were  ordered  to  take 
them  back  and  the  doors  were  locked  on  the 
wretched  animals.  An  English  girl,  who  was 
living  in  the  same  street,  told  me,  also,  how  she 
had  seen  a  soldier  stick  his  bayonet  into  a  dog 
that  ran  out  of  the  burning  house.  And  the  old 
Coimtess  Fredericks,  who  was  dangerously  ill  at 
the  time,  only  escaped  by  the  promptitude  of  her 
servants,  who  carried  her  out  on  a  stretcher  by 
a  back  entrance  while  the  angry  mob  stormed  the 
front  of  the  house. 

The  Emperor,  meanwhile,  had  at  last  decided 
to  come  to  Petrograd  and,  all  unknowing  of  the 
situation  there,  had  started  on  his  way  only  to 
find  the  line  stopped  by  a  workman's  committee, 
and  he  himself  virtually  a  prisoner.  Realising 
then  how  he  had  been  deceived,  he  turned  to 
those  around.  ''Why  was  I  not  told  of  all  this 
earlier?"  he  asked,  and  who  knows  what  bitter- 
ness of  spirit  was  in  the  simple  words. 

On  March  14,  M.  Gutchkoff,  who  had  been 
elected  member  of  the  new  provisional  govern- 
ment, and  M.  Shulgin,  a  delegate  of  the  Executive 
Committee  of  the  Duma,  went  to  meet  the  Em- 
peror with  the  proposal  that  he  should  abdicate 


THE  EMPEROR'S  ABDICATION      99 

in  favour  of  the  little  Tsarewitch  with  the  Grand 
Duke  Michael  as  regent.  But,  to  the  surprise 
of  those  present,  when  M.  Gutchkoff  laid  this 
suggestion  before  the  Emperor  he  answered  very 
quietly:  "I  have  decided  to  abdicate,  and  I  had 
meant  to  do  so  in  favour  of  my  son,  but  I  find  now 
that  I  cannot  be  parted  from  him." 

Gutchkoff,  feeling  that  he  could  not  go  against 
the  Emperor  on  such  a  subject,  gave  in  to  his 
wish,  and  it  was  settled  that  the  Grand  Duke 
Michael  shoiild  be  elected  Tsar,  the  Emperor 
signing  the  abdication  in  his  favoiu*.  M.  Gutch- 
koff and  M.  Shulgin  then  took  leave  of  him  and  on 
the  1 6th  the  imperial  train  returned  to  Mohileff,  as 
Nicholas  II  had  expressed  the  wish  to  take  leave 
of  his  staff. 

By  this  time  Petrograd  had  returned  to  a  state 
of  normal  quiet.  The  streets  were  crowded  with 
people  all  wearing  red  favours,  red  flags  fluttered 
from  all  the  houses.  In  many  places  the  wires  of 
the  electric  trams  had  been  cut  and  broken  by 
shots,  and  the  trams  were  not  yet  nmning,  nor 
were  there  yet  any  cabs  to  be  had,  and  no  motors 
were  allowed  to  circulate  without  a  special  pass 
from  the  Dimia.  Low  peasant  sledges  with  straw 
at  the  bottom  were  the  only  means  of  locomotion, 
and  one  saw  them  filled  with  a  strange  medley  of 
soldiers,  well-dressed  women,  officers,  and  work- 
people.    The  imperial  arms  that  hung  over  some 


loo  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

of  the  shops  were  torn  down  and  burnt.  A 
crowd  assembled  on  the  square  before  the  Winter 
Palace  to  watch  a  red  flag  hoisted  on  the  staff 
from  which  the  Emperor's  yellow  flag  with  the 
imperial  eagle  had  been  wont  to  float.  And  in  all 
that  silent  crowd  just  one  man  clapped,  while 
the  others  stood  stolidly  looking  up  at  that  scrap 
of  red  that  fluttered  against  the  sky,  so  small 
a  S5mibol  of  an  overwhelming  change. 

Meanwhile  the  Soviet  had  sprimg  into  power, 
and  was  steadily  gaining  groimd.  The  Grand 
Duke  Michael  had  refused  to  accept  the  throne 
at  his  brother's  hands,  declaring  that  he  would 
wait  to  succeed  until  unanimously  elected  by  the 
wish  of  the  people. 

And  what  was  it  the  people  wished?  A  re- 
public— the  word  they  were  being  taught  by 
the  Socialist  party,  which  day  by  day  was  becom- 
ing more  powerful?  But  how  little  the  people 
understood  it  must  be  judged  by  the  conversa- 
tion overheard  between  two  soldiers:  ''What 
we  want,"  declared  one  of  them,  *'is  a  republic." 
"Yes,"  returned  the  other,  nodding  his  head, 
**a  republic,  but  we  must  have  a  good  Tsar  at 
the  head  of  it." 


XV 

THE  FIRST  WEEKS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

And  during  all  this  time  the  Empress,  still  liv- 
ing in  the  palace  at  Czarskoe,  refused  to  believe 
in  the  real  state  of  things,  exclaiming  when  she  was 
told  of  them:  ''Those  are  newspaper  lies,  I  have 
faith  in  God  and  the  army.  '*  And  only  a  few  days 
later  the  Provisional  Government  ordered  the 
arrest  of  the  Emperor  at  Mohileff,  and,  chiefly 
from  a  desire  to  satisfy  the  people,  who  were  be- 
ing worked  up  by  the  Extremists,  decided  to  place 
the  Empress  likewise  imder  arrest. 

General  Komiloff ,  who  had  been  made  com- 
mander of  the  forces  of  the  Petrograd  district, 
came  to  Czarskoe  with  three  assistants  and  asked 
to  see  the  Empress.  Dressed  in  deep  mourning 
she  came  out  to  him,  and  when  he  told  her  that 
he  had  received  orders  from  the  government  to 
place  her  imder  arrest,  tears  started  to  her  eyes. 
*'A11  my  children  are  ill,"  she  told  him.  **My 
son  was  better  yesterday,  but  to-day  he  is  again 
in  danger." 

General  Komiloff  asked  to  be  left  alone  with  her 
for  a  few  moments  and  the  Empress  gave  way  to 

lOI 


I02  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

a  hysterical  fit  of  tears,  but,  presently  mastering 
her  emotion,  said  to  him  quietly:  "I  am  at  your 
disposition.     Do  with  me  what  you  will."  ^ 

The  general  thereupon  gave  orders  for  the 
arrest  of  all  the  people  surrounding  the  Empress 
and,  having  put  guards  at  all  the  telephones,  re- 
turned to  Petrograd.  A  few  days  later  the  Em- 
peror's train  arrived  at  Czarskoe  from  Mohileff 
and  Nicholas  Romanoff  was  a  prisoner  in  his  own 
palace. 

At  this  time  it  was  still  thought  possible  to 
send  the  Emperor  and  Empress  out  of  the  coun- 
try. In  a  speech  he  held  at  Moscow,  M.  Kerensky 
told  the  people:  "The  former  Tsar  is  now  in  my 
hands.  Comrades,  the  Russian  revolution  passed 
bloodlessly,  and  I  do  not  wish  and  shall  not  per- 
mit it  to  be  darkened.  I  shall  never  be  the  Marat 
of  the  Russian  Revolution.  But  in  the  very  near 
future  Nicholas  II  will  be  taken  to  a  seaport  and 
from  there  sent  to  England."  His  speech  was 
received  with  enthusiasm,  but  there  was  a  strong 
faction  of  the  people  who,  worked  upon  by  the 
Extremists,  called  for  the  Emperor  to  be  punished, 
and  it  is  very  possible  that  but  for  the  abolish- 
ment of  the  death  penalty  by  M.  Kerensky  on 
March  20  this  party  would  have  succeeded. 

As  it  was,  a  delegation  of  about  a  hvmdred  and 
fifty  of  the  Extreme  Socialist  party  went  down  to 
Czarskoe  and  demanded  that  the  Emperor  should 


FIRST  WEEKS  OF  REVOLUTION      103 

be  handed  over  to  them;  and,  when  they  were 
told  that  the  Emperor  was  a  prisoner  of  the  Pro- 
visional Government  and  could  not  be  given  over 
without  a  permit  signed  by  some  member  of  the 
government,  threatened  to  turn  machine-gtms  on 
the  palace.  The  guards  replied  that  machine- 
guns  would  be  likewise  turned  on  them,  but  the 
leaders  of  the  delegation  still  insisted  that  they 
must  see  Nicholas  II,  if  only  to  assure  themselves 
that  he  was  really  there,  and  at  last  they  were 
taken  to  a  room  in  the  palace  and  were  told  that 
the  Emperor  would  pass  through  in  a  few  moments. 
And  presently,  after  they  had  waited  for  a  short 
time,  the  doors  were  opened,  and  very  slowly 
Nicholas  II  walked  through  the  room.  Some- 
thing, perhaps  a  stirring  of  old-time  loyalty,  or 
a  feeling  of  awe  in  front  of  that  perfect  dignity 
and  calm,  brought  the  revolutionaries  with  one 
accord  to  their  feet.  In  silence  they  saluted  the 
Emperor,  whose  life  they  had  been  threatening, 
and  returned  to  Petrograd  without  demanding 
anything  further. 

One  wonders  what  that  life  of  captivity  and  idle- 
ness must  have  meant  to  the  man  who  had  been 
all-powerful.  There  is  a  story  relating  how  one 
day  a  soldier  was  seen  clearing  away  the  snow  in 
a  part  of  the  park  where  the  Emperor  was  allowed 
to  walk.  One  of  the  officers  on  guard  called  out 
to  him  and  demanded  to  know  what  he  meant  by 


I04  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

working  without  orders.  Looking  up,  the  man 
answered  quietly,  "I  am  trying  to  kill  time," 
and  the  officer  recognised  him  to  be  the  Emperor 
himself. 

When  he  was  told  that  the  death  penalty  had 
been  abolished,  the  Emperor,  seeing  with  a  clear 
judgment  the  result  of  such  an  act,  exclaimed: 
**That  is  a  mistake!  It  will  ruin  the  army.  If 
it  is  done  to  save  me  from  danger,  tell  them  that 
I  am  ready  to  give  my  life  for  the  good  of  my 
coimtry." 

And  meanwhile,  in  Kronstadt,  in  Reval,  in 
Helsingfors,  the  sailors  had  mutinied  and  mur- 
dered their  officers.  Admiral  Nipenin,  the  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  Baltic  Fleet,  a  man  of  ex- 
ceptional talent  and  strength,  was  shot  as  he 
landed  in  Helsingfors,  having  gone  there  from  his 
flagship  at  the  request  of  the  Soviet  of  the  town. 
The  atrocities  committed  in  Kronstadt  were  horri- 
ble, and  the  place  became  an  island  of  terror  and 
a  hotbed  of  Bolshevism  and  anarchy.  Admiral 
Viren,  the  commander-in-chief  is  supposed  to 
have  been  burnt  at  a  stake,  many  officers  were 
thrust  alive  under  the  ice,  over  two  hundred 
were  kept  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Kronstadt 
fortress,  where  they  had  to  submit  to  the  most 
brutal  treatment. 

In  the  army  also  discipline  had  been  aban- 
doned.   On  the  northern  front  many  soldiers  had 


FIRST  WEEKS  OF  REVOLUTION      105 

deserted  and  things  were  going  badly.  Follow- 
ing the  example  of  Petrograd,  Soviets  had  been 
started  all  through  the  army,  committees  of  sol- 
diers who  elected  or  dismissed  the  officers  and 
decided,  according  to  their  own  lights,  all  ques- 
tions regarding  the  regiment,  and,  realising  that 
at  this  moment  an  attack  might  only  draw  the 
Russian  army  together,  the  Germans  had  started 
fraternisation,  a  system  that  spread  like  a  deadly 
disease  all  down  the  long  line  of  the  frontier. 

On  April  5,  the  victims  of  the  revolution  were 
buried  on  the  Champ  de  Mars  not  far  from  the 
embassy.  The  fimeral  had  been  put  off  several 
times,  as  the  government  feared  anti-revolution 
demonstrations,  and  when  finally  it  took  place, 
most  of  the  red  wooden  coffins  were  supposed  to 
be  only  filled  with  stones.  No  reli^ous  cere- 
mony was  permitted  and  no  priest  was  allowed  to 
officiate.  The  procession,  passing  all  through  the 
town,  lasted  from  ten  in  the  morning  till  nine  in 
the  evening,  and  as  each  cofiin  was  placed  in  the 
huge,  trench-like  grave  dug  on  the  Champ  de 
Mars,  the  guns  from  the  fortress  fired  the  salute, 
and  the  procession  passed  on  across  the  bridge 
singing  the  Russian  Marseillaise.  No  disorder 
of  any  kind  occurred,  and,  contrary  to  all  ex- 
pectations, the  day  passed  in  perfect  quiet  and 
peace. 

But  during  all  that  spring  of  191 7,  streams  of 


io6         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

demonstrations,  carrying  red  flags  and  singing 
the  Marseillaise,  paraded  the  streets  of  Petro- 
grad  on  the  slightest  excuse.  I  remember  par- 
ticularly one  of  these  demonstrations  when  the 
square  in  front  of  the  embassy  was  a  seething  mass 
of  women,  children,  workmen,  and  soldiers,  all 
carrying  crimson  banners  at  different  angles,  all 
singing  the  Marseillaise  in  a  different  time  and  in 
a  different  key;  and,  hurried,  pushed,  jostled  by  a 
careless  crowd,  a  pilgrim  who  had  come  from  who 
knows  what  far-away  monastery  and  had  found 
himself  caught  up  and  carried  along  in  the  stream, 
an  old,  old  man  in  a  dusty  brown  robe,  with  a  long 
pilgrim's  staff  and  a  flowing,  white  beard.  At 
the  corner  of  the  bridge  he  managed  to  extricate 
himself  from  the  crowd,  and  as  he  passed  us  com- 
ing down  the  quay  I  saw  his  pale-blue  eyes  full 
of  tears  that  ran  unheeded  down  his  cheeks,  while 
with  a  trembling  hand  he  crossed  himself  over  and 
over  again,  murmuring  in  a  half- whisper :  "God 
have  mercy  on  us — God  have  mercy  on  us !" 

The  spirit  of  the  old  Russia  and  the  new — it 
faced  one  everywhere!  In  the  dusty  red  flags 
that  waved  above  the  fortress  and  the  Winter 
Palace,  in  the  white-and-gold  Opera  House,  where 
the  imperial  boxes  were  filled  with  a  motley  crowd 
of  soldiers  in  leather  jackets,  women  in  bright- 
coloured  blouses,  wild-looking  men  with  spectacles 
and  straggly  beards.     The  spirit  of  change — it 


FIRST  WEEKS  OF  REVOLUTION      107 

met  one  in  the  fine  old  palace  turned  into  offices 
for  committees  and  meetings,  filled  with  soldiers 
and  workmen  who  spat  on  the  floor  and  lay  with 
muddy  boots  on  the  brocade  sofas.  One  saw  it 
again  at  all  the  government  buildings,  where 
soldiers  slept  on  guard  by  the  doors,  their  rifles 
carelessly  propped  against  them. 

But  the  poison  had  not  yet  spread  completely, 
the  name  of  Liberty  had  not  yet  been  dragged 
through  the  dust.  The  Death  Battalion  was 
formed  of  men  who  were  true  to  their  ideals  and 
had  sworn  to  fight  in  the  cause  of  the  Allies  till 
the  last  drop  of  their  blood.  And  early  in  April 
a  deputation  from  eleven  troops  of  Cossacks  rode 
up  to  the  embassy,  fierce-looking  men,  sitting 
their  horses  like  no  other  men  on  earth,  with  fear- 
less, honest  eyes  and  bronzed,  bearded  faces. 
Drawing  up  in  a  long  line  that  stretched  right 
down  the  quay,  they  sat  waiting  while  some  of  the 
officers  dismounted,  and  coming  up  into  the  em- 
bassy, presented  my  father  with  an  address,  which 
ended  in  simple,  straightforward  language:  *'We 
bear  witness  that  the  Cossacks  .  .  .  will  fight  still 
more  vigorously  for  their  liberty  and  for  that  of 
the  peoples  allied  with  them.  That  they  will  de- 
fend their  coimtry  against  all  disturbances  liable 
to  weaken  our  common  fighting  powers,  no  mat- 
ter from  what  side  they  arrive.  The  whole  of 
the  Cossacks,  a  people  not  skilful  at  philosophising 


io8  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

nor  cunning  in  the  use  of  speech,  but  mighty  in 
their  word  of  honour  and  in  their  deeds  on  the  bat- 
tle-field, claim  the  right  to  greet,  in  your  person, 
the  victorious  British  navy,  first  in  the  world,  not 
only  in  numbers,  but  also  in  might,  and  the  grow- 
ing millions  of  yoiu-  noble  army.  Long  live  the 
Mistress  of  the  Seas  of  all  the  world,  glorious, 
honourable,  proud  old  England." 


XVI 

SPRING,  1917 

Kerensky  was  at  this  time  at  the  very  height 
and  zenith  of  his  power,  enjoying  a  popularity 
that  was  ahnost  unequalled.  I  remember,  dur- 
ing some  big  charity  entertainment,  his  appear- 
ance in  one  of  the  boxes  causing  the  whole  audi- 
ence, oblivious  of  the  performance  then  going  on, 
to  rise  in  a  sudden  burst  of  enthusiasm,  many 
people  even  leaving  their  seats  and  flocking  to 
the  middle  of  the  theatre  the  better  to  be  able  to 
see  him.  In  the  entr'acte  some  half-dozen  soldiers 
carried  him  through  the  theatre  on  a  chair  which 
they  finally  placed  on  the  stage.  Dressed  in  the 
little  black  workman's  coat  which  he  always  wore 
— prompted  by  his  love  of  a  somewhat  theatrical 
appearance — his  right  arm  in  a  sling  owing  to  a 
slight  accident,  his  face  paler  and  more  cadaverous 
than  ever,  his  deep,  fierce  eyes  sweeping  the 
crowd  that  thronged,  cheering  and  clapping,  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  stage,  he  stood  there  a 
moment  in  silence,  and  then  in  the  midst  of  a 
sudden  hush  began  to  speak  in  that  harsh,  im- 
musical  voice  that  was  yet  so  strangely  compelling 
and  inthralling.     His  speech  was  short  and  full 

109 


no         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

of  fire  and  enthusiasm,  but  it  was  above  all  the 
man*s  personality  that  was  so  arresting,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  of  its  not  being  sympathetic.  His 
thin,  cruel-looking  face  stood  out  from  all  others 
as  a  painted  face  of  extraordinary  vividness  on 
a  dark  canvas,  his  small,  deep-set  eyes  held  one 
with  the  quick  power  of  their  shifting  glance, 
his  voice  rapped  out  his  words  with  a  sharp  in- 
cisiveness  that  wasted  nothing  but  went  straight 
to  the  point  with  a  brutal  swiftness.  A  storm 
of  cheering  that  seemed  to  rock  and  shake  the 
theatre  greeted  his  speech  and  he  was  carried 
back  to  his  box  in  triimiph.  The  revolution  was 
still  yoimg  in  those  days,  the  people  had  not  lost 
their  faith,  and  were  ready  to  fight  for  the  liberty 
they  had  won. 

Yet  already,  on  May  3,  the  government  was  in 
danger  of  falling,  in  consequence  of  a  note  pre- 
sented by  M.  Miliukoff  to  the  Allies  in  which  he 
affirmed  that  Russia  would  maintain  a  strict 
regard  for  the  engagements  entered  into  with  her 
allies,  and  would  recognise  no  peace  that  did  not 
guarantee  the  impossibility  of  a  recurrence  of  a 
sanguinary  war  in  the  near  future.  The  words 
*' decisive  victory"  which  he  used  raised  a  storm 
of  indignation  in  the  Bolshevik  parts  of  the  Soviet. 
A  huge  meeting  took  place  in  front  of  the  Marie 
Palace  and  cries  of  "Down  with  Miliukoff" 
resoxmded  on  all  sides. 


SPRING,   1917  III 

On  May  4  an  order,  supposed  to  come  from  the 
Soviet,  but  in  reality  having  been  sent  from  some 
member  of  the  Extremists,  commanded  all  the 
workmen  not  to  go  to  the  factories,  and  all  dur- 
ing the  day  the  town  was  in  a  turmoil.  Bands 
of  men  carrying  rifles  met  one  at  every  cor- 
ner; once  more  motor-lorries  filled  with  workmen 
and  soldiers  swung  down  the  streets.  Some  of 
them  bore  huge  red  flags  with  the  inscription, 
**Down  with  the  Government — Peace  at  Once," 
written  on  them  in  white  letters.  Others,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  inscribed:  "War  to  the  End — 
Support  the  Government."  Meeting  each  other, 
the  two  opposing  parties  hurled  insults  at  each 
other,  in  one  or  two  cases  even  fired  at  each  other, 
and  several  tmarmed  soldiers  were  killed  by  the 
workmen  on  the  Nevsky. 

Several  times  during  the  evening  big  demon- 
strations halted  in  front  of  the  embassy  and, 
declaring  themselves  loyal  to  the  government, 
called  for  my  father  to  come  out  and  speak  to 
them.  One  or  two  patriotic  speeches  were  held, 
and  the  crowd  cheered  my  father  and  some  of 
the  English  officers  who  had  come  round  to  the 
embassy.  And  yet  there  was  a  ttirbulent  spirit 
of  imrest  in  the  midst  of  all  the  enthusiasm. 
Once  or  twice  from  different  parts  of  the  swaying 
crowd  a  voice  was  raised  in  angry  vehemence, 
calling  on  them  not  to  believe  in  England,  that 


112  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

she  was  fighting  the  war  for  her  own  ends  and 
was  using  Russia  as  a  tool.  Then  there  would 
come  a  clamour  of  shouts  and  hisses,  a  sudden 
turmoil,  a  heated  argument,  perhaps  here  and  there 
a  raised  fist.  Later  during  the  evening  two  huge 
lorries  drove  up  and  halted  just  in  front  of  the 
embassy.  A  crowd  of  soldiers  and  sailors  filled 
them  to  overflowing,  big  flags  swayed  above  them 
in  the  wind,  rifles  and  bayonets  gleamed  here  and 
there  as  the  lights  from  the  open  windows  caught 
them.  A  little  nervously,  not  knowing  to  which 
side  they  belonged,  the  crowd  made  way  for  them, 
and  then,  as  they  declared  that  they  came  from 
the  coimcil  with  the  news  that  the  Soviet  had 
come  to  an  agreement,  broke  out  into  enthusiastic 
cheers,  and  amidst  acclamation  and  the  waving 
of  handkerchiefs  the  motors  drove  off  down  the 
quay.  Presently  the  huge,  shadowy  mass  of 
people  melted  away  also,  and  the  soft  grey  dark- 
ness of  the  early-spring  night  wrapped  the  river 
in  dreaming  peace,  broken  only  now  and  then  by 
the  faint  echo  of  distant  cheering.  A  few  days 
later,  however.  Monsieur  Miliukoff  was  forced 
to  resign,  his  place  being  taken  by  Monsieur 
Terestchenko;  Monsieiu*  Gutchkoff  also  had  sent 
in  his  resignation,  Kerensky  becoming  minister 
of  war. 

Even  in  the  hospital  the  effects  of  the  revolu- 
tion were  beginning  to  make   themselves  felt. 


SPRING,   1917  113 

A  few  of  the  soldiers  still  retained  the  gentleness 
and  courtesy  of  manners  that  had  been  so  pro- 
nounced a  characteristic,  a  few  still  lay  with  pa- 
tient, smiling  eyes,  unquestioning  and  uncom- 
plaining. But  one  or  two  evil  influences  were 
beginning  to  spread  the  seeds  of  discontent  and 
revolt,  discipline  was  a  thing  forgotten  and  put 
aside,  the  doctors'  orders  were  neglected,  the 
sisters'  requests  treated  with  contempt.  Hardly 
any  fresh  wounded  were  coming  in  from  the  front, 
only  train  after  train  of  men  with  scurvy,  generally 
such  light  cases  that  after  a  week  or  two  in  hos- 
pital they  were  able  to  leave  again — that  week, 
however,  giving  them  time  to  spread  their  doc- 
trine of  freedom  of  speech  and  manners.  The 
Russian  Red  Cross  would  or  could  do  nothing  to 
help.  When  we  telephoned  to  them  to  ask  them 
to  remove  a  man  from  the  hospital  who  was 
inciting  the  others  to  sedition,  they  replied  that 
they  had  not  the  power  and  could  do  nothing  by 
force.  Two  deputies,  however,  came  from  the 
Soviet  and  argued  with  the  man  in  question, 
persuading  him  to  leave  the  hospital  of  his  own 
free  will,  as  he  was  now  almost  completely  re- 
covered. He  gave  his  word  to  do  so  and  then,  as 
soon  as  the  deputies  had  gone,  snapped  his  fingers 
at  their  backs  and  said  that  he  was  very  comfort- 
able where  he  was  and  certainly  intended  to  stay. 
Oh,  yes,  he  had  given  his  word,  but  that  did  not 


114  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

matter;  that  was  only  so  as  not  to  have  to  argue. 
The  matron  then  told  the  soldiers  that,  tinless 
they  gave  up  following  this  man's  evil  influence, 
the  hospital  would  be  closed.  But  they  only 
laughed  and  continued  to  allow  themselves  to  be 
led  on  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  and,  at  last,  the  situa- 
tion became  unbearable,  the  committee  of  the 
hospital  reluctantly  decided  to  shut  it  up  for  six 
weeks.  The  dismay  of  some  of  the  men  when 
they  were  told  of  this  was  almost  pitifully  comic. 
**0h — but  we  didn't  know  you  really  meant  it, 
we  thought  it  was  not  serious — if  we  had  known 
we  would  have  acted  differently."  There  were 
tears  in  their  eyes;  they  wandered  about  the  blue- 
and- white  wards  like  lost  souls;  the  man  who  was 
the  originator  of  all  the  trouble  was  shunned  as 
if  he  had  some  disease.  But  it  was  too  late  now 
to  go  back  on  the  decision,  and  after  the  men  had 
been  comfortably  settled  in  various  Russian  hos- 
pitals the  poor  little  British  lazaretto  for  woimded 
Russian  soldiers  was  closed.  Only  temporarily, 
so  we  told  each  other  as  we  said  good-bye !  And 
yet  there  was  an  aching  feeling  of  finality  about  it 
all,  a  sense  of  desolation  about  those  empty  wards 
that  caught  at  one's  throat,  and  all  the  time  the 
monsters  of  chaos  and  confusion  spread  the  shadow 
of  their  power  over  the  country  and  day  by  day 
the  old  landmarks  crumbled  away  and  vanished. 
On  July  2,  however,  a  gleam  of  hope  lit  up  the 


SPRING,   1917  IIS 

darkness.  The  Russian  offensive  had  been  glori- 
ously begun,  over  ten  thousand  prisoners  had  been 
taken  and  the  troops  were  still  advancing.  A 
wave  of  new-born  enthusiasm  swept  over  the 
town,  once  more  processions  paraded  the  streets; 
only  there,  where  the  Emperor's  portrait  had  been 
carried  in  triumph,  Kerensky's  picture  now  held 
the  place  of  honour,  and  instead  of  the  blue- 
white-and-red  flags  of  the  great  Russian  Empire 
the  scarlet  flags  of  liberty  were  carried  in  pro- 
cession. 

Now  that  the  offensive  had  begun  the  govern- 
ment, feeling  that  they  had  popular  feeling  on 
their  side,  began  to  take  stronger  measures  against 
the  mass  of  agitators  who  were  spreading  dissen- 
sion and  anarchy  all  over  the  country.  Cossacks 
surrounded  the  villa  of  General  Doumovo  which 
had  been  taken  possession  of  by  a  band  of  an- 
archists, and  the  whole  lot  of  them  were  taken 
prisoner,  and  there  were  rumours  of  further  arrests 
of  Bolshevik  leaders. 

The  town  seethed  with  processions  and  dem- 
onstrations of  all  kinds;  at  every  street  comer 
little  knots  of  people  stood  listening  to  some 
patriotic  orator,  or  perhaps  to  a  follower  of  Lenin 
who  was  declaiming  on  the  folly  of  continuing  a 
capitalist  war.  Untaught  and  unread  as  they 
mostly  are,  the  Russian  peasants  seem  to  have  a 
special  gift  of  speech.     I  have  seen  a  whole  theatre 


Ii6         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

held  spellbotind  while  a  simple  soldier  standing 
on  the  stage  in  his  dusty,  war-stained  uniform 
spoke  to  them  for  over  half  an  hour  with  a  per- 
fectly easy  flow  of  eloquence..  These  street- 
orators  swayed  their  audience  one  way  or  another 
by  their  arguments,  and  if  one  stayed  to  listen 
one  could  hear  the  most  diverse  doctrines  and 
politics  propounded  within  a  short  space  of  time 
and  applauded  with  equal  enthusiasm.  There 
is  a  story  of  a  soldier  who  had  been  listening  so 
to  two  speeches,  the  first  of  which  had  upheld 
the  government  and  the  war,  the  second,  on  the 
contrary,  having  urged  the  people  to  demand  a 
separate  peace  and  the  resignation  of  all  the 
ministers.  One  of  the  passers-by  asked  the  sol- 
dier which  of  the  two  speeches  he  considered 
the  best.  Slowly,  and  after  much  deliberation, 
the  soldier  replied:  "Eh,  barin !  they  were  both 
good  speeches,  but  the  second  one  was  the  best — 
it  was  ten  minutes  longer  than  the  first." 


XVII 

THE  WOMEN   OF  RUSSIA 

So  the  spring  of  "  Russia's  glorious  Revolution  " 
passed,  and  summer  came — summer  with  the 
magic  of  long,  golden  evenings;  the  enchantment 
of  dreaming  nights,  when  the  sky  behind  the 
fortress  was  like  a  rose-flushed  mother-of-pearl, 
and  the  broad  river  gleamed  like  a  pathway  of 
deepest  aquamarines,  and  sunrise  followed  sun- 
set so  swiftly  that  the  marvellous  spire  of  Peter 
and  Paul  still  glowed  with  the  reflection  of  the 
one  when  the  other  flashed  it  again  to  gold. 

Every  year  the  wonder  of  those  summer  nights 
struck  one  afresh,  every  year  they  seemed  to  bind 
themselves  round  one's  heart  with  a  deeper,  more 
subtle  charm. 

But  this  year  we  had  no  excursions  into  the  gulf 
or  round  the  island.  The  sailors  on  Admiral 
Grigorovitch's  yacht  had  politely  told  their 
officers  that  they  did  not  require  their  services 
any  more,  the  ''tovarisches"  used  the  yacht  for 
their  own  purposes — ^whatever  they  might  be — 
and  the  little  motor-launch  that  used  to  come  and 
fetch  us  had  disappeared.     Out  on  the  islands 

117 


ii8         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

there  were  fewer  carriages  and  motors,  though  the 
water  was  crowded  with  a  multitude  of  rowing- 
boats,  which,  as  the  rowing  of  the  tovarisches 
was  defective  and  their  steering  even  more  so, 
bumped  into  each  other  without  ceasing,  calling 
forth  squeals,  giggles,  and  curses. 

Now  that  the  hospital  was  shut  up  I  had  more 
free  time  and  was  able  to  get  down  to  Finland  for 
a  week  of  lovely  summer  weather,  when  we  were 
able  to  bathe  every  day  and  sit  out  by  the  sea  till 
past  eleven  watching  the  opal-coloured  water 
change  to  grey  beneath  the  softly  changing  sky. 

Later  in  the  summer  I  spent  another  fortnight 
in  the  Baltic  Provinces.  Unexpected  little  lakes, 
that  had  been  hidden  under  the  snow,  smiled  here 
and  there  in  vivid  glimpses  of  blue  between  the 
tall,  dark  trees.  The  whispering  pine-woods  held 
a  new  enchantment  now,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
say  when  they  were  more  beautiful — in  their 
golden,  shadowed  fragrance  or  in  their  silver 
silence  of  imtrodden  snow.  Now  in  those  long 
summer  evenings  they  were  full  of  whispering 
ghosts,  and  sighing  voices  that  died  weirdly  in  the 
silence.  One  night  we  lit  a  huge  bonfire  in  their 
midst  and  sat  watching  the  sparks  that  lost 
themselves  in  the  darkness  over  our  heads,  while 
the  light  of  the  flames  danced  on  the  silent,  watch- 
ing trees  and  made  odd  shadows  waver  and  re- 
treat all  roimd  us.    We  spent  two  days  at  Reval, 


THE  WOMEN  OF  RUSSIA         119 

the  little  sleepy  grey  town  with  its  steep,  narrow 
streets,  and  overhanging  houses,  and  the  big, 
grim  citadel  that  faced  the  dreaming  sea,  with  the 
golden  domes  of  the  cathedral  gleaming  above  its 
walls. 

There  was  fighting  again  on  the  Russian  front 
during  those  summer  days.  Fighting  that  fluctu- 
ated and  died  away  once  more  into  passive  in- 
activity. And  the  women  of  Russia  joined  hands 
in  a  supreme  act  of  self-sacrifice,  a  vain  endeavour 
to  save  the  honour  of  their  coimtry's  manhood. 
Led  by  a  peasant  woman,  who  almost  from  the 
beginning  of  the  war  had  fought  as  a  soldier  in 
the  ranks  of  the  army,  the  Woman's  Battalion 
was  enrolled  as  part  of  the  BattaHon  of  Death. 

"When  the  soldiers  see  their  women  fighting, 
surely  they  will  be  struck  by  shame  and  follow 
us,"  so  the  women  argued,  and  girls  of  all  classes 
cut  their  hair  and  put  on  soldiers'  imiforms  and 
went  through  all  the  training  of  ordinary  soldiers. 
And  the  men  watched  them  with  furtive  eyes, 
half  ashamed,  half  angry,  and  the  German  agents 
sneered  and  fanned  the  anger. 

I  remember  going  to  a  solemn  service  at  the 
Kazan  Cathedral  when  the  first  battalion  of 
women  were  ready  to  start  for  the  front.  Stand- 
ing in  the  dark  doorway  of  the  church,  we  looked 
down  at  the  silent,  khaki-clad  ranks  of  these  women 
and  girls,  who  were  going  out  to  face  the  horrors 


120  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

of  the  most  awful  war  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
Laden  with  all  a  soldier's  heavy  paraphernalia, 
they  stood  there  still  and  motionless  in  the  soft 
drizzle  of  rain,  and  the  old  priest  who  had  come 
out  to  bless  them,  looked  at  them,  the  tears 
nmning  tmheeded  down  his  cheeks.  And,  broad- 
shouldered,  square,  resolute,  the  black-and-orange 
ribbon  of  St.  George  on  her  breast,  the  peasant 
woman  who  was  to  lead  them  knelt  at  his  feet, 
her  firm,  brave  lips  quivering  in  sudden  emotion 
as  she  kissed  the  golden  cross  he  held  out  to 
her. 

People  have  said  that  the  women  of  Russia 
stood  aside  during  their  country's  agony,  and 
certainly  there  were  many  who  continued  their 
usual  round  of  bridge  and  gossip  and  flirtation. 
But  all  the  same  it  is  unjust  to  say  they  did  not 
work,  and  the  hospitals  were  fiill  of  girls  who  had 
probably  never  known  how  to  make  a  bed  before 
the  war. 

Many  of  them  began  their  training  in  the  same 
hospital  that  I  did,  and  I  remember  the  first  day 
I  was  there  meeting  a  woman  who  had  been  one 
of  the  spoilt  beauties  of  Petrograd  society.  She 
was  standing  irresolute  before  a  particularly  tm- 
appetising  old  beggar  with  sores  on  his  leg. 
*'What  am  I  to  do  to  him  ?"  she  asked,  catching 
hold  of  me.  ''The  sister  told  me  I  was  to  wash 
him — but  how?" 


THE  WOMEN  OF  RUSSIA         121 

I  looked  at  the  beggar's  leg  and  I  looked  at  her. 
She  looked  just  as  sick  as  I  felt,  and  the  beggar 
sat  on  the  bench  and  watched  us  with  stolid 
indifference.  He  had  paid  his  three  kopyeks  to 
have  his  sores  washed,  and  that  was  all  that 
mattered  to  him. 

''What  am  I  to  do  ?"  the  woman  repeated  des- 
perately. "The  sister  just  said,  'Wash  him,' 
and  that's  all,  and  she's  so  busy  that  I  daren't 
ask  her  again."  Somehow  between  the  two  of  us 
we  managed  to  do  it,  the  beggar  himself  giving  us 
most  of  the  instructions,  and  when  at  last  it  was 
finished  the  woman  said,  with  a  little  gasp,  her 
face  even  whiter  than  it  had  been  before:  "I 
shall  never  be  able  to  stick  it — never."  But  all 
the  same  she  did,  and  worked  for  two  years  at  a 
field-hospital  right  up  at  the  front. 

Some  of  them,  of  course,  did  not  stick  to  it; 
some  of  them  joined  just  because  the  uniform 
was  becoming;  some  of  them  never  even  got  as 
far  as  passing  the  exams.  But  a  lot  of  them  con- 
tinued to  work  right  on — even  after  the  revolu- 
tion, when  the  soldiers  themselves  settled  how 
many  hoiu-s  the  sisters  were  to  be  on  duty,  and  in 
one  hospital  I  know  of  decided  that  it  was  not 
necessary  for  them  to  have  tea  in  the  afternoon. 

And  that  the  women  of  Russia  have  suffered 
nobody  can  gainsay.  There  is  not  one  of  them 
that  has  not  been  called  upon  for  sacrifice,  and 


122         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

what  the  war  has  not  taken  the  revolution  has — 
in  blood  and  iron  and  fire. 

When  we  blame  Russia  and  cry  her  down  let 
us  try  and  remember  what  her  women  are  suffer- 
ing. What  we  give  we  give  for  our  country, 
but  they  must  stand  by  and  see  their  husbands 
and  sons  and  brothers  murdered  cruelly  and 
wantonly  by  their  own  people,  see  their  homes 
burnt  and  pillaged,  their  children  dying  of  famine 
and  disease.  And  all  this  not  for  a  cause  of  right 
and  freedom,  but  for  the  shame  and  dishonoiu: 
of  Russia  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 


XVIII 

BOLSHEVIK  RISING  OF  JULY 

Just  opposite  the  embassy,  across  the  enor- 
mous breadth  of  the  river  spanned  by  the  Troitzky 
bridge,  stood  the  big,  white  house  of  Tches- 
kinskaia,  the  first  dancer  of  the  imperial  ballet. 
Early  in  the  spring,  Lenin,  after  travelling  through 
Germany  in  a  sealed  carriage,  took  possession 
of  this  palace,  filling  it  with  a  crowd  of  his  fol- 
lowers. A  monster  red  flag  waved  from  the  roof; 
every  night  lights  blazed  from  all  the  windows; 
every  day  crowds  surged  all  round  the  house, 
while,  from  a  little  kiosk  at  the  comer  of  the 
garden,  Lenin  spoke  to  them  inciting  them  against 
the  war,  against  the  government,  against  the 
Allies. 

For  a  short  time,  during  the  momentary  ad- 
vance of  the  Russian  troops,  the  flag  was  taken 
down  from  the  roof,  the  windows  were  darkened, 
the  house  seemed  to  be  empty.  There  were  ru- 
moiurs  that  Lenin  had  disappeared  to  Sweden, 
whispers  even  that  he  had  been  secretly  arrested 
by  the  government.  But  on  the  evening  of  the 
1 6th  of  July,  sitting  at  my  window  after  dinner, 

123 


124  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

I  saw  that  huge  red  flag  being  slowly  hoisted  once 
more  from  the  roof  and  heard  faintly  across  the 
distance  the  sound  of  cheering. 

Already  during  the  eariier  part  of  the  day  the 
first  signs  of  a  coming  trouble  had  shown  them- 
selves, so  faint,  so  small,  that  at  the  time  one  did 
not  notice  them  or  take  heed,  and  it  was  only 
afterward,  looking  back,  that  one  remembered. 
The  cadet  members  of  the  government  had  re- 
signed and  a  few  people  shook  their  heads  and 
looked  grave.  In  the  morning  a  long,  slow  pro- 
cession of  the  soldiers  over  forty,  who  were  ask- 
ing to  go  back  to  their  villages  for  the  summer, 
marched  through  the  town,  dreary,  slouching, 
hopeless-looking  men  with  sullen  faces.  During 
the  afternoon  I  went  to  see  a  friend  who  lived 
almost  opposite  the  military  arsenal.  Before 
the  doors  a  big  crowd  of  workmen  were  collected 
listening  to  a  man  in  a  dirty  yellow  shirt  who  was 
making  a  speech.  It  was  such  a  common  sight 
that  I  paid  no  attention  to  it  at  the  moment,  but 
when  I  came  out  nearly  an  hour  later  and  foimd 
the  crowd  stiU  there  and  even  grown  larger,  I 
wondered  vaguely  what  they  were  doing.  The 
speaker  in  the  yellow  shirt  had  gone  now,  and  the 
men  just  stood  about,  talking  in  excited  voices, 
shouting,  gesticulating.  They  looked  so  angry 
that  I  did  not  quite  like  to  stay  too  long  to  try 
and  listen  to  what  they  were  saying,  and  I  went 


BOLSHEVIK  RISING  OF  JULY     125 

on  down  the  cool,  shaded  street.  A  woman  stand- 
ing in  a  dark  doorway  shook  her  head  as  I  passed. 
"There  will  be  trouble  again,"  I  heard  her  mutter 
half  to  herself.  Again  I  wondered  what  they  were 
doing,  but  forgot  then  all  about  it  till,  as  I  was 
dressing  for  dinner,  I  saw  a  motor-lorry  with  some 
soldiers  waving  red  flags  shoot  past  the  window. 
*'What  is  happening  ?"  I  asked  my  maid,  but  she 
only  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "God  knows,'* 
she  answered  despondently.  "They  are  surely 
all  mad,  barishnia." 

After  dinner  again  we  saw  a  motor-lorry  pass, 
and  then  another  and  another,  the  people  in  the 
streets  standing  still  to  watch  them  with  puzzled, 
disturbed  faces.  My  father,  who  had  not  been 
able  to  go  out  all  day,  was  going  out  for  a  drive 
after  dinner.  The  chasseur,  coming  up  to  say 
that  the  carriage  was  ready,  stood  a  moment 
hesitating  at  the  door.  "It  would  be  better  for 
your  Excellency  not  to  go  out,"  he  said  at  last. 
"The  streets  are  not  quiet." 

"But  what  is  happening?"  my  father  asked. 
The  man  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  know,  Ex- 
cellency.    It  would  be  better  not  to  go." 

My  father,  however,  insisted,  saying  that  he 
would  not  go  far,  and  he  and  my  mother  started 
out. 

Sitting  working  at  my  window,  I  saw  how  they 
tried  to  get  across  the  bridge,  but  were  imable  to 


126         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

advance,  owing  to  a  dense  block  of  trams  and 
motors,  and  had  to  turn  back  and  drive  along  the 
quay,  which  was  practically  deserted.  But,  mean- 
while, as  I  sat  there,  that  flag  was  hoisted  from 
Tcheskinskaia's  palace  and  fluttered  a  patch  of 
brilliant  scarlet  against  the  grey  shadow  of  the 
mosque  behind.  The  shore  opposite  seemed 
black  with  people,  and  some  of  them  came  hurry- 
ing across  the  bridge,  glancing  nervously  behind 
them  as  if  they  feared  pursuit.  Meeting  the 
other  crowd  trying  to  get  to  the  other  side,  they 
were  told :  *  *  It  is  no  good.  You  can't  get  across. '  * 
"But  what  has  happened?"  came  the  excited 
question,  and  always  came  the  same  answer: 
**God  knows — there  is  trouble  coming."  More 
and  more  motors  began  to  pass  bristling  with  guns 
in  all  directions,  filled  with  soldiers  who  were 
shouting  out :  "Down  with  the  government,  down 
with  the  capitalists ! " 

My  father  and  mother  came  back  shortly 
afterward,  saying  that  farther  along  the  quay 
everything  was  perfectly  quiet,  but  meanwhile 
the  crowd  in  front  of  the  embassy  grew  ever 
denser,  all  the  trams  had  stopped,  the  bridge  was 
a  seething  mass  of  people,  and  several  private 
motors  that  passed  were  held  up  by  soldiers 
who  turned  out  the  occupants  without  any  cere- 
mony and  took  possession  of  the  cars  themselves, 
swarming  into  them  like  a  lot  of  insects,  five  or 


BOLSHEVIK  RISING  OF  JULY     127 

six  inside,  two  on  either  step,  two  or  three  on  the 
box,  two  more  lying  along  the  mud-guards.  And 
presently  two  fully  armed  regiments  came  march- 
ing across  the  bridge,  carrying  banners  inscribed 
in  flaring  white  letters  with:  ''Down  with  a 
Capitalist  War — Down  with  the  Upper  Classes. 
Long  Live  Anarchy.     Bread,  Peace,  Freedom.** 

My  father,  getting  a  little  anxious,  made  me 
telephone  to  General  Knox,  the  head  of  the  Mili- 
tary Mission,  to  ask  whether  he  knew  what  was 
happening.  But  the  quarter  of  the  town  where 
he  lived  was  perfectly  quiet  and  he  had  heard 
nothing,  knew  nothing,  of  any  disturbances.  A 
little  later,  however,  as  another  regiment  came 
across  the  bridge,  followed  by  a  lot  of  armed 
workmen,  my  father  telephoned  again,  asking 
General  Knox  to  come  round  to  the  embassy,  as 
something  must  certainly  be  happening. 

Armed  motor-cars  were  buzzing  in  all  directions 
now,  and  as  slowly  the  sunset  faded  into  a  soft 
grey  dusk  the  crowd  grew  denser  and  denser. 
General  Knox,  arriving  with  one  or  two  other 
English  officers,  tried  to  telephone  to  the  General 
Staff,  but  could  get  no  information.  Nobody 
knew  what  was  the  matter — oh,  yes,  something 
was  evidently  wrong,  but  what  it  was,  or  why, 
nobody  could  tell.  At  last,  about  eleven  o'clock. 
General  Knox  went  round  to  the  Staff  himself 
to  try  and  gather  a  little  more  definite  news. 


128  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

A  little  later  one  of  the  correspondents  telephoned 
to  say  that  they  were  fighting  on  the  Nevsky, 
and  at  about  half  past  eleven  a  sudden  volley  of 
firing  came  up  from  somewhere  on  the  Champ  de 
Mars,  and  the  square  in  front  of  the  embassy,  that 
had  been  a  black  mass  of  people,  was  cleared  as 
if  by  magic  as  the  crowd  scattered  in  all  direc- 
tions, some  of  them  taking  shelter  behind  the 
marble  palace  just  opposite,  others  hiding  behind 
the  embassy  itself,  others  again  flying  across  the 
bridge.  The  firing,  however,  died  away  as  sud- 
denly as  it  had  begun,  and  General  Knox,  coming 
back  from  the  Staff,  said  that  General  Popovtzoff 
was  quite  calm  and  did  not  consider  the  trouble 
serious.  The  Cossacks  were  ready  to  come  out 
if  there  were  any  very  grave  riots,  but  as  yet  it 
was  thought  there  was  no  definite  need  and  the 
government  had  given  no  orders. 

And  meanwhile,  on  the  Nevsky,  some  fierce 
fighting  took  place,  the  soldiers  turning  their 
machine-guns  on  the  crowd  without  any  reason 
or  excuse,  driving  up  and  down  the  street,  firing 
wildly  and  indiscriminately  as  they  went. 

And  later,  during  the  evening,  a  crowd  of  armed 
workmen  and  soldiers  surrounded  the  house  of 
Prince  Lvoff,  where  Monsieur  Tereschenko  and 
some  of  the  other  ministers  were  having  dinner. 
"We  have  come  to  arrest  the  members  of  the 
government  who  are  here,"  so  ran  the  message 


BOLSHEVIK  RISING  OF  JULY     129 

the  crowd  sent  in.  The  ministers  sent  back  word 
inviting  them  to  enter  and  discuss  with  them, 
but,  though  the  house  was  unguarded  and  un- 
protected, the  crowd  feared  that  a  trap  was  being 
laid  for  them  and  melted  away,  merely  requisition- 
ing the  ministers'  motors  that  stood  at  the  door. 

During  the  early  hours  of  the  next  day  the 
town  appeared  almost  peaceftil.  There  were 
very  few  people  in  the  streets,  the  trams  made  an 
attempt  to  run  as  usual,  a  few  carts  lumbered 
across  the  bridge  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
But  presently  the  trams  stopped  running  alto- 
gether, armed  motors  began  to  tear  about  again, 
any  private  car  that  dared  show  itself  in  the  street 
was  immediately  stopped  and  taken  possession  of, 
and,  in  spite  of  an  order  from  the  government  for- 
bidding any  kind  of  demonstration  or  procession, 
huge  bands  of  workmen  with  rifles  and  fixed  bay- 
onets kept  on  coming  across  the  bridge.  And  a 
little  after  twelve,  three  thousand  of  the  Kron- 
stadt  sailors  marched  past  the  embassy,  an  end- 
less stream  of  evil-looking  men,  armed  with  every 
kind  of  weapon,  cheered  by  the  soldiers  in  the 
fortress,  though  the  ordinary  public  in  the  streets 
shrank  away  at  sight  of  them. 

Looking  at  them,  one  wondered  what  the  fate 
of  Petrograd  would  be  if  these  ruffians  with  their 
unshaven  faces,  their  slouching  walk,  their  utter 
brutality,  were  to  have  the  town  at  their  mercy. 


I30         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

And  the  government  seemed  to  be  quiescent; 
nothing  was  heard  of  them;  nobody  seemed  to 
know  anything.  Kerensky  was  at  the  front; 
the  other  ministers  seemed  to  be  in  hiding.  Peo- 
ple said  the  Cossacks  were  ready  to  come  out, 
but  so  far  nothing  had  been  seen  of  them. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  there  was  again  some 
heavy  fighting  on  the  Nevsky.  Somebody  had  fired 
at  the  sailors  from  a  window,  with  the  result  that 
they  traversed  the  street  with  their  machine-guns, 
and  over  a  hundred  people  were  killed.  A  little 
later,  when  I  was  sitting  with  my  mother,  bands 
of  armed  workmen  came  down  the  quay  and, 
aiming  their  rifles  at  all  the  houses,  commanded 
in  a  threatening  manner  that  every  window  be 
closed.  Still  a  little  later  a  crowd  of  soldiers 
surrounded  the  embassy  and  a  Russian  friend  of 
mine  who  came  to  see  me  at  that  moment  and 
had  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  through  them, 
told  us  that  they  were  saying  they  had  come  to 
demand  the  publication  of  all  the  secret  treaties, 
and  that  their  intention  was  to  attack  the  em- 
bassy. However,  presently  the  whole  crowd  of 
them  melted  away,  something  having  evidently 
changed  their  mind,  and  about  half  an  hour  later 
the  first  Cossacks  rode  past — great,  bronzed  men, 
riding  through  the  crowd  of  soldiers  and  motor- 
lorries  full  of  armed  workmen  and  sailors  as  care- 
lessly as  if  there  were  not  over  a  hundred  rifles 


BOLSHEVIK  RISING  OF  JULY     131 

ready  to  fire  on  them  at  any  moment.  Several 
of  the  workmen  shook  their  fists  at  them  as  they 
passed,  muttering  curses  under  their  breaths, 
but  nobody  stirred,  and  not  a  shot  was  fired,  and 
one  began  to  feel  that  after  all  there  was,  per- 
haps, still  a  government  and  a  power  in  the 
coimtry. 


XIX 

JULY  17  AND  18 

That  evening  of  July  1 7  stands  out  very  clearly 
in  my  memory,  not  perhaps  so  much  for  the 
actual  events  but  for  a  rather  unexplainable 
atmosphere  of  dread  that  seemed  to  brood  over 
the  town.  I  suppose  the  weather  really  had 
something  to  do  with  this  feeling,  for  heavy  thun- 
der-clouds lay  piled  in  ominous  masses  behind  the 
fortress;  the  river  lay  dark  and  sullen,  with  an  oily 
reflection  on  the  grey  waters  and  only  now  and 
then  little  puffs  of  a  hot,  dry  wind  blew  clouds  of 
yellow  dust  up  from  the  Champ  de  Mars  across 
the  square. 

One  or  two  people  were  dining  with  us  that 
night,  and  at  the  beginning  of  dinner  Monsieur 
Tereschenko  rang  my  father  up  on  the  telephone 
warning  him  that  some  severe  fighting  might  take 
place  in  the  town  during  the  next  two  or  three 
days,  and  begging  him  to  go  away  for  a  little. 
When  my  father  came  back  to  the  dining-room 
and  announced  this  little  item  of  news.  General 
Kiiox  looked  sternly  at  me.  **Well,  at  any  rate, 
the  child  must  go,"  he  said.     I  made  a  face  at 

132 


JULY  17  AND  18  133 

him  across  the  table,  but  prudently  said  nothing. 
At  such  moments  I  always  found  that  a  policy 
of  masterly  inactivity  and  apparent  submission 
generally  carried  the  day,  helped  out  by  very  care- 
fully temporising  and  promising  to  go  away — the 
next  day. 

We  continued  our  dinner  peacefully,  but  we  had 
just  reached  the  pudding  when  the  chasseiu* — 
rather  white  and  agitated — appeared  in  the  door- 
way. **  Excellency,  the  Cossacks  are  charging 
across  the  square,"  he  announced. 

Leaving  our  pudding  imtasted,  we  made  a 
slightly  tmdignified  rush  to  my  father's  study, 
from  where  a  good  view  of  the  square  could  be 
obtained,  but  only  arrived  at  the  windows  in  time 
to  see  one  or  two  sailors  hastily  disappearing  round 
the  comer  of  the  marble  palace,  while  line  upon 
line  of  Cossacks  swept  up  from  the  Champ  de 
Mars  and  turning  the  comer  by  the  embassy  rode 
down  the  quay  toward  the  Stimmer  Gardens. 
They  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  driven  a  crowd  of 
Kronstadt  sailors  full  tilt  before  them  up  from  the 
Nevsky,  forcing  some  of  them  to  take  refuge  in 
the  marble  palace,  while  others  scattered  across 
the  bridge.  One  of  our  housemaids  declared  that 
she  had  seen  a  Cossack  cut  a  sailor's  head  clean 
off  with  one  sweep  of  his  sword,  but  I  cannot 
vouch  for  the  truth  of  this  story,  and  I  saw  no 
signs  of  a  headless  body  on  the  quay. 


134         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

We  stayed  for  a  minute  or  two  to  watch  the 
remaining  Cossacks  ride  past,  clouds  of  dust 
sweeping  up  under  their  horses'  hoofs,  the  points 
of  their  long  lances  standing  out  against  the  angry 
sky.  Then  we  returned  to  the  dining-room  to 
finish  our  pudding,  but  we  had  hardly  done  so 
when  a  sharp  volley  of  firing  brought  us  again 
to  our  feet,  and  once  more  we  hurried  back  to 
my  father's  room. 

The  firing  seemed  to  be  coming  from  the 
direction  of  the  Summer  Gardens,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  it  continued  with  imabated  violence,  but 
on  the  quay  itself  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen, 
only  a  Httle  group  of  loitering  soldiers  by  the  cor- 
ner of  the  bridge,  all  looking  in  the  direction  of 
that  turmoil  that  we  could  not  see.  Then  sud- 
denly above  the  crack  of  the  rifles  came  the  re- 
port of  a  field-gim,  and  the  soldiers  scattered  in 
all  directions,  two  of  them  flinging  themselves 
flat  on  their  faces  in  the  road.  And  hardly  a 
minute  later,  with  a  wild  scurry  of  flying  hoofs, 
two  riderless  Cossack  horses  dashed  past,  knock- 
ing down  a  man  who  tried  to  stop  them,  disap- 
pearing down  the  quay  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

The  firing  had  died  down  to  an  almost  startling 
silence,  broken  only  by  a  low  rtimble  of  distant 
thimder  and  the  patter  of  one  or  two  heavy 
drops  of  rain.  Presently  one  of  the  English 
officers,  who  had  gone  out  to  try  and  gather  news 


JULY  17  AND  18  135 

of  what  had  happened,  came  back  to  say  that  the 
Cossacks  had  fallen  into  a  Bolshevik  ambush 
in  the  Summer  Gardens,  and  that  several  of  them 
had  been  killed.  They  were  supposed  to  be 
fighting  again  in  the  Liteinia,  though  which  side 
was  gaining  the  upper  hand  nobody  knew. 

Unable  to  tear  ourselves  from  the  windows,  we 
wandered  aimlessly  from  room  to  room,  while 
rapidly  the  thimder-clouds  darkened  behind  the 
fortress,  and  the  wind-driven  dust  whirled  across 
the  bridge.  The  crowd  of  loitering  soldiers  at 
the  comer  had  thickened.  Arguing  angrily  to- 
gether, they  stood  gathered  in  little  groups,  and 
now  and  then  a  word  or  two  drifted  up  to  us 
through  the  heavy  stillness — "the  government — 
freedom — the  Soviet — the  capitalists — Germans— 
the  Allies."  Evidently  their  conversation  turned 
on  the  same  eternal  subjects  that  had  been  dis- 
cussed for  so  long  and  yet  remained  always  im- 
decided. 

Suddenly,  however,  they  stopped  arguing,  drew 
back  a  little,  all  staring  down  the  quay,  and  pres- 
ently a  huge  Cossack  appeared  leading  by  the 
arm  a  ragged,  disreputable-looking  soldier.  In 
a  silence  that  was  curiously  tense,  the  crowd  by 
the  bridge  watched  them  come,  and,  unarmed 
save  for  the  sword  that  clattered  on  the  pavement, 
the  Cossack  faced  them  and  dragged  the  cring- 
ing soldier  after  him.    Then — when   they  had 


136         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

almost  passed — the  soldier  made  a  frantic  effort 
to  free  himself  from  the  restraining  hand.  **To- 
varische !"  (comrades)  he  cried,  his  voice  rising 
to  a  hysterical  scream,  ''Tovarische !  " 

The  silent  Httle  crowd  of  watching  soldiers 
surged  forward;  hastily  the  Cossack  tried  to  draw 
his  sword,  but  before  he  could  do  so  one  of  the 
surrounding  soldiers  wrenched  it  away  from  him 
and  dealt  him  a  terrific  blow  on  the  head.  For  a 
second  as  he  fell  to  the  ground  we  caught  our 
breath,  thinking  we  were  going  to  see  him  cut  to 
pieces,  but  with  a  surprising  agility  he  got  to  his 
feet  again,  and,  charging  head  foremost  into  the 
surrounding  crowd,  got  clear  and  made  off  down 
the  quay,  'pursued  by  screams  of  rage  and  two 
or  three  bullets;  apparently,  however,  none  of 
them  hit  him. 

Providentially,  too,  at  that  moment  the  rain 
came  down  in  a  sudden  blinding  sheet,  and  the  sol- 
diers, their  collars  turned  up,  made  off  in  various 
directions,  and  peace  and  silence  fell  over  the  town. 

General  Knox  and  Major  Thomhill  were  living 
in  the  embassy,  and  a  guard  of  thirty  soldiers, 
under  the  command  of  a  very  talkative  little 
Russian  officer,  had  arrived  apparently  from  no- 
where and  taken  up  their  quarters. 

The  night  passed  perfectly  quietly,  but  early 
the  next  morning  two  or  three  armoured  cars  sud- 
denly appeared  and  stationed  themselves  on  the 


JULY  17  AND  18  137 

quay,  and  while  we  watched  them  with  a  certain 
anxiety,  motor  after  motor  full  of  soldiers  drove 
up  and  halted  by  the  bridge,  while  the  soldiers 
getting  out  lined  up  in  front  of  the  embassy. 
Nobody  seemed  quite  to  know  to  which  side  they 
belonged,  or  for  what  purpose  they  had  come,  but 
presently  our  little  Russian  officer  bustled  in  to 
tell  us  that  they  were  loyal  troops  and  that  the 
government  had  decided  to  take  up  all  the  bridges 
and  try  to  isolate  the  rebels  and  prevent  their 
passing  to  and  fro.  At  the  same  time  he  warned 
us  that  the  Bolshevik  troops  quartered  in  the 
fortress  might  try  to  prevent  this  measure  being 
taken,  might  even  use  their  big  guns,  in  which 
case  he  begged  us  to  go  at  once  to  the  back  of 
the  house — all  this  with  a  tremendous  flow  of 
volubility  and  eloquence.  Of  course,  there  was 
no  real  danger — none  at  all — but  still  it  was  al- 
ways best  to  be  prepared — ^it  might  be  better  even 
to  have  a  bag  packed  ready  in  case  it  were  neces- 
sary to  leave  the  embassy  altogether,  though 
certainly  he  hoped  that  no  such  need  would  arise. 
Accordingly,  feeling  rather  as  if  we  were  taking 
part  in  some  half-tragic,  half-comic  cinema  film, 
we  each  of  us  packed  a  little  hand-bag — and  I 
realised  then  how  very  difficult  it  is  to  know  what 
things  are  really  indispensable,  when  one  is  only 
allowed  a  very  limited  choice.  My  chief  anxiety 
at  the  moment  I  think  was  my  Siamese  cat,  who 


138  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

was  put  into  her  travelling-basket,  protesting 
loudly  against  such,  to  her  understanding,  very 
unnecessary  treatment. 

However,  the  Bolsheviks  offered  no  resistance 
whatever.  The  big  arch  of  the  bridge  was  slowly 
swung  open,  guards  were  stationed  along  the 
quay,  and  climbing  back  into  their  motors  the  rest 
of  the  soldiers  drove  off,  and  a  dead  calm  seemed 
to  settle  down  on  everything. 

Occasionally  an  armoured  car  showed  itself 
on  the  opposite  shore ;  on  the  walls  of  the  fortress 
soldiers  could  be  seen  looking  across  the  river, 
but  nothing  happened — a  cloudless  sky  shone 
above  the  town,  the  spires  and  domes  flashed  with 
unbearable  brilliance  in  the  sunshine,  the  river 
lay  as  smooth  and  still  as  a  sheet  of  deepest  aqua- 
marine. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  went  out  along  the  quay, 
soldiers  stood  on  guard  at  all  the  street  comers, 
every  motor  that  passed  was  stopped  and  ques- 
tioned, curious  crowds  were  gathered  before  the 
closed  bridges  looking  across  to  the  opposite  shore. 
And  here  and  there  groups  of  rather  angry-looking 
men  stood  talking  together,  watched  by  the  rest  of 
the  passers-by  with  a  certain  suspicion.  "Bolshe- 
viki,"  one  heard  them  whisper,  and  they  edged  a 
little  closer,  perhaps  trying  to  hear  the  low-toned 
discussion,  then,  being  met  with  a  muttered  curse, 
shrank  back  and  looked  hastily  away. 


XX 

THE  TAKING  OF  THE  FORTRESS 

Slowly  the  day  passed  into  evening,  the  sun- 
set tinged  the  river  to  the  colour  of  molten  flame. 
Dark  and  tall  and  unbelievably  slender  the  spire 
of  Peter  and  Paul  stood  out  against  the  burning 
sky.  From  gold  to  rose  the  changing  colours 
throbbed  and  glowed.  A  little  tender  violet  mist 
shrouded  the  walls  of  the  fortress,  and  behind 
Lenin's  white  palace  the  big  shadow  of  the  Tar- 
tars' Mosque  stood  up  as  if  cut  out  of  black 
paper. 

The  little  Russian  officer  dined  with  us  and 
talked  a  constant  stream  which  quite  did  away 
with  the  chance  of  anybody  else  being  able  to 
say  a  word.  During  dinner  my  father  had  a 
private  warning  that  the  government  were  pre- 
paring an  attack  against  the  Bolsheviks,  that 
would  probably  take  place  during  the  night. 
After  dinner,  in  order  to  try  and  get  away  from 
the  little  Russian's  flow  of  conversation,  I  sat  on 
the  window-sill  and  looked  out  on  the  wonderful 
peace  of  the  empty  square  that  was  generally  such 
a  pandemonium  of  trams  and  carts  and  motors. 

139 


I40  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

The  soldiers  on  guard  at  the  bridge  stood  leaning 
on  their  rifles,  talking  in  low  tones,  and  now 
and  then  some  curious  passer-by  would  pause 
to  look  across  the  river.  Once  two  Cossacks  with 
rifles  slung  across  their  shoulders  rode  slowly  past, 
the  clatter  of  their  horses'  hoofs  ringing  loudly  in 
the  intense  silence,  and  once  a  little  motor-boat 
sped  with  incredible  swiftness  down  the  river, 
churning  the  dreaming  waters  to  a  sudden  life 
and  motion. 

Slowly  the  sunset  fire  and  splendour  paled  to 
a  dusk  that  seemed  to  hold  the  colours  of  mother- 
of-pearl,  and  soft-footed  shadows  stole  down  the 
riverside,  and  a  few  faint  stars  shone  dimly  in  the 
tender  sky. 

It  was  an  unbearably  hot  night  and  I  remember 
getting  up  at  about  three  in  the  morning  to  open 
the  window  a  little  wider.  A  pale-gold  light  was 
stealing  along  the  sky,  the  crimson  flag  on  the 
fortress  himg  limp  in  the  intense  stillness,  two 
soldiers  sat  fast  asleep  on  the  bench  by  the  bridge, 
while  three  others  walked  slowly  to  and  fro,  the 
points  of  their  bayonets  catching  the  faint  reflec- 
tion from  the  brightening  sky.  And  as  I  stood 
there  trying  in  vain  to  get  a  little  breath  of  air, 
the  whir  of  a  motor  broke  the  silence  and  gal- 
vanised the  sleeping  soldiers  into  sudden  alert- 
ness. Puffing  and  snorting,  the  motor  drew  up 
and  two  officers  followed  by  a  sailor  and  a  Cos- 


TAKING  OF  THE  FORTRESS      141 

sack  got  out  and  walked  up  to  the  bridge,  standing 
there  in  earnest  conversation.  Presently  I  saw 
our  own  little  Russian  officer  join  them,  and  I 
was  filled  with  a  very  violent  curiosity  to  know 
what  it  was  they  were  discussing.  However,  after 
a  minute  or  two,  they  got  back  into  their  motor 
again  and  drove  off,  and  since  nothing  seemed  to 
be  going  to  happen  just  yet,  I  got  sadly  back  into 
bed  again,  and — still  wondering — fell  asleep. 

At  six,  however,  I  was  woke  up  again  by  a 
violent  report  just  outside  and,  getting  up  hastily, 
saw  that  the  whole  square  was  a  mass  of  soldiers 
and  sailors,  who  were  all  drawn  up  at  attention 
and  all  seemed  in  some  state  of  excitement. 
Quite  who  it  was,  or  what  it  was,  who  had  fired  I 
could  not  make  out,  but  I  saw  that  the  bridge 
had  been  swimg  back  into  position  and  one  or 
two  officers  stood  on  it,  looking  anxiously  across 
it.  Evidently  something  was  going  to  happen, 
and  probably,  whatever  it  was,  it  had  to  do  with 
the  mysterious  action  the  government  intended 
taking  against  the  Bolsheviks.  Hearing  at  the 
same  time  a  certain  amount  of  movement  going 
on  in  the  house,  I  put  on  a  dressing-gown  and 
opened  my  door  and  ran  straight  into  one  of  the 
English  officers  with  an  overcoat  on  over  his 
pajamas. 

**0h — "  I  was  a  little  taken  aback — **were  you 
coming  to  call  me  ?    Is  anything  the  matter  ?" 


142  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

*'Yes,**  he  answered  briefly.  "Will  you  please 
go  up  and  call  your  people  and  tell  them  they 
must  go  down  to  the  coach-house  at  once  ?  The 
government  are  attacking  the  fortress  and  the 
Bolsheviks  will  probably  use  their  big  guns." 

*'May  I  dress  first?"  I  asked  meekly,  but  was 
told  with  some  severity:  **No — ^please  go  and 
tell  your  father  at  once." 

So,  obediently,  I  went  up  and  called  my  father 
and  mother  and  also  woke  up  my  maid,  who  was 
fast  asleep,  and  was  more  than  a  little  startled 
when  I  shook  her  violently  and  told  her  she  must 
get  up  at  once. 

Coming  down-stairs  again,  I  met  General  Knox 
in  a  beautiful  red  dressing-gown.  He  met  my 
cheerful  smile  with  a  frown.  ''You  oughtn't 
to  be  here  at  all,"  he  told  me  severely,  and  then 
said  he  was  looking  for  my  father,  as  the  officer  in 
command  of  the  government  troops  who  were 
attacking  the  fortress  wished  to  speak  to  him. 

In  the  bright  morning  sunshine  we  must  have 
looked  a  somewhat  dissipated  and  motley  assem- 
bly, arrayed  as  we  were  in  an  odd  assortment  of 
dressing-gowns  and  coats,  but  the  officer  in  com- 
mand of  the  operations  behaved  as  if  there  was 
nothing  imusual  in  the  circumstances,  and  as  if 
it  was  the  most  natiu*al  thing  in  the  world  to  be 
received  on  the  embassy  staircase  at  six  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  by  an  ambassador  with  a  great- 


TAKING  OF  THE  FORTRESS      143 

coat  on  over  his  pajamas  and  a  pair  of  bedroom 
slippers  on  his  bare  feet. 

He  told  us  that  he  was  confident  of  being  able 
to  take  the  fortress,  but  that,  the  embassy  being 
in  the  direct  line  of  fire,  it  would  be  wiser  for  us 
to  go  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and — in  the  eventu- 
ality of  very  severe  fighting — be  prepared  to  leave 
altogether  at  a  moment's  notice. 

So,  accordingly,  we  once  more  packed  our  bags, 
and  the  Siamese  cat  was  again — protesting  even 
more  violently — put  into  her  travelling-basket, 
and  we  then  went  up  to  the  drawing-room  from 
where  one  had  the  best  view  of  what  was  going  on. 

All  down  the  quay  soldiers  were  kneeling  be- 
hind the  low  stone  wall  with  their  rifles  resting 
on  the  top  and  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  opposite 
shore.  A  little  way  farther  down  several  machine- 
guns  were  hidden  in  a  big  stack  of  wood,  and  the 
whole  square  was  packed  with  a  dense  mass  of 
soldiers  and  sailors  of  the  Naval  Cadet  School. 
Now  and  then  companies  of  soldiers,  preceded  by 
armoured  cars,  advanced  cautiously  across  the 
bridge,  but  the  gims  of  the  fortress  remained 
silent,  and  the  red  flag  fluttered  unconcernedly 
against  the  sky. 

Once  an  armoured  car  from  the  opposite  shore 
began  to  advance  across  the  bridge  to  meet  the 
troops  from  our  side,  and  the  soldiers  in  the 
square  put  their  rifles  to  their  shoulders — then 


144         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

after  a  second's  breathless  tension  the  Bolshevik 
motor  turned  and  scuttled  off  in  the  opposite 
direction  and  a  little  ripple  of  amusement  ran  down 
the  lines  of  troops  along  the  quay. 

Presently,  beginning  to  get  rather  hungry,  we 
went  to  have  our  breakfast — ^though  the  fact  that 
there  was  no  milk  or  butter,  and  hardly  any  bread, 
did  not  quite  add  to  one's  enjoyment  of  the  meal. 

More  and  more  troops  were  advancing  across 
the  bridge,  and  now  and  then  the  crack  of  rifles 
o  the  rattle  of  machine-guns  could  be  heard  from 
the  opposite  shore,  but  still  the  guns  of  the  fortress 
remained  silent,  and  presently  we  all  went  to 
dress. 

At  about  ten,  M.  Tereschenko  telephoned  to 
my  father  begging  him  to  come  at  once  with  my 
mother  and  myself  to  the  Foreign  Office,  as  he  did 
not  consider  the  embassy  to  be  safe.  My  father 
absolutely  refused  to  leave,  and  mother  would 
not  go  without  him.  They  wanted,  of  course,  to 
turn  me  out,  and  General  Knox  told  me  that  I 
was  more  trouble  than  all  the  Russian  army, 
but  while  they  were  still  arguing  about  my  fate 
a  message  was  brought  us  that  Lenin's  palace 
had  been  taken  by  the  government  troops  and 
that  the  fortress  was  expected  to  yield  very 
shortly,  and  I  hastily  seized  on  this  to  assure 
them  that  now  it  really  was  not  worth  my  leaving 
the  embassy. 


TAKING  OF  THE  FORTRESS      14S 

Occasional  bodies  of  troops  could  still  be  seen 
advancing  across  the  bridge,  and  now  and  then 
a  certain  amount  of  shooting  could  be  heard, 
and  it  was  not  till  nearly  one  that  the  fortress 
actually  surrendered,  without  having  used  those 
much-threatened  big  guns,  or  put  up  really  any 
very  great  resistance. 

Almost  immediately  a  dead  calm  settled  over 
Petrograd.  Soldiers  still  guarded  the  bridge, 
but  the  trams  started  running  again,  the  usual 
traffic  was  resumed,  and  the  town  began  to  wear 
its  ordinary  aspect.  The  government  had  won 
the  day  and  the  force  of  the  Bolshevik  insurrec- 
tion was  broken — so  everybody  said,  and  yet  the 
very  next  night  machine-gims,  hidden  in  barges 
down  the  river  and  under  the  bridges,  suddenly 
opened  fire  on  the  quay,  while  many  of  the  streets 
were  likewise  swept  by  a  sudden  rain  of  bullets 
that  came  nobody  quite  knew  from  where  or 
for  what  reason.  Government  troops  were  hastily 
summoned,  and  after  about  an  hour  or  two  the 
shooting  died  away  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun. 

And  now  that  they  had  the  power  in  their  hands, 
Kerensky  and  the  government  let  the  propitious 
moment  pass.  The  Kronstadt  sailors,  taken 
prisoner  in  the  fortress,  were  set  at  liberty  in- 
stead of  being  shot  as  traitors;  Lenin,  having  been 
given  ample  warning  that  the  troops  were  com- 
ing to  arrest  him,  had  walked  out  of  his  back  door 


146  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

and  disappeared  nobody  quite  knew  where,  and 
several  of  the  other  Bolshevik  leaders  were  set  free. 
"We  must  shed  no  blood,"  so  Kerensky 
preached,  the  idealist  in  him  once  more  overcom- 
ing the  statesman  and  ruler,  hesitating  to  strike 
a  crushing  blow  at  the  insidious  evil  of  Bolshevism 
that  was  spreading  like  a  disease  through  the  ranks 
of  the  army.  And  the  Cossacks,  burying  their 
dead  in  the  wonderful  cemetery  of  the  Alexander 
Nevsky,  marched  with  surly  faces  in  the  long 
procession — these,  their  comrades  who  had  fallen, 
were  given  a  wonderful  burial — ^with  flowers  and 
music  and  much  pomp.  But  what  good  was  that 
going  to  do  them  now?  They  had  given  their 
lives  to  save  a  government  that  had  been  over- 
thrown by  a  horde  of  rebels — and  the  government 
accepted  the  sacrifice  and  did  nothing  to  ptmish 
the  rebels.  You  must  not  shed  the  blood  of  your 
brothers !  But  had  not  their  brothers'  blood 
been  shed,  and  was  it  to  go  unavenged  ?  It  was 
a  question  that  remained  unanswered,  but  was 
not  forgotten. 


XXI 

THE  FAILURE  OP  THE  RUSSIAN  ARMY 

On  September  3  Riga  was  given  up  to  the 
Germans,  and  so  slight  was  the  resistance  made 
by  the  Russian  troops,  so  swift  and  unexpected 
was  their  surrender,  that  the  people  in  the  town 
hardly  knew  that  the  enemy  were  near,  but  were 
continuing  their  ordinary  life,  all  the  shops  and 
cinemas  being  open,  and  the  restaurants  and 
hotels  crowded. 

Scenes  of  indescribable  confusion  and  horror 
took  place  when  the  fact  that  the  Germans  were 
at  the  gates  burst  on  the  population.  There  was 
a  wild  panic  to  get  away;  part  of  the  town  was 
in  flames,  and,  as  usual,  there  was  no  organisa- 
tion or  order. 

And  devastating  everything  as  they  went,  the 
Russian  army  retreated,  leaving  guns  and  ammuni- 
tion behind  them,  turning  their  own  wounded 
out  of  the  ambulances  to  swarm  into  them  them- 
selves in  their  mad  flight.  Hospitals  and  farms 
and  coimtry  houses,  anything  that  was  in  their 
path  was  burnt  and  destroyed,  while  the  inhabi- 
tants fled  before  them  in  terror.     Reval  was  in  a 

147 


148  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

state  of  panic,  and  the  trains  coming  in  from  the 
Baltic  Provinces  were  so  packed  to  overflowing 
that  people  were  even  sitting  on  the  roofs  of  the 
carriages  with  their  trunks  and  furniture. 

The  conference  in  Moscow  from  which  so  much 
had  been  hoped,  had  brought  forth  no  really  def- 
inite result  or  settlement,  and  the  ever-widening 
breach  between  Left  and  Right  seemed  to  have 
been  made  worse  instead  of  better.  Patriotic 
speeches  had  been  made  on  both  sides,  but  this 
seemed  only  to  stir  up  party  feelings  to  a  greater 
extent. 

The  rivalry  also  between  Kerensky  and  Komi- 
loff  was  growing  acute,  and  it  was  becoming  evi- 
dent to  everybody  that  it  would  soon  come  to  a 
definite  split  between  the  two  men. 

Kerensky's  speech  at  the  conference  was  not  a 
success;  his  manner  was  hysterical  and  weak,  and 
he  repeated  himself  in  a  string  of  patriotic  phrases 
that  gave  no  decisive  plan  of  action.  His  aping 
of  *'The  Little  Napoleon"  also  rubbed  people 
up  the  wrong  way,  and  the  fact  that  two  A.  P.  C.*s 
stood  behind  his  chair  drawn  up  in  a  miHtary 
salute  all  the  time  he  was  speaking  gave  rise  to 
a  burst  of  contempt,  and  was  looked  on  as  a  pose 
no  emperor  had  ever  dared  attempt. 

General  Komiloff's  speech  demanding  the  res- 
toration of  discipline  in  the  army,  and  laying  down 
the  methods  by  which  he  meant  to  make  an  at- 


FAILURE  OF  THE  RUSSIAN  ARMY     149 

tempt  to  restore  order,  was  also  not  received 
with  enthusiasm  except  by  Rodzianko  and  the 
party  of  the  Right,  who,  by  their  violent  support 
and  acclamation,  only  added  to  the  impression 
that  he  was  implicated  in  a  cotmter-revolution- 
ary  plot. 

It  was  an  impression  his  enemies  were  only  too 
ready  to  foster  and  make  the  most  of,  and  that  he 
had  many  enemies  in  political  circles  there  is  no 
doubt.  In  the  army  his  name  was  worshipped, 
and  he  was  perhaps  the  one  man  who  could  have 
held  it  together  and  made  it  again  a  force  on  the 
field.  A  short,  square  figure,  with  small,  deep- 
set  brilliant  eyes,  he  had  an  extraordinarily  vivid 
personality  and  a  charm  of  manner  that  was 
absolutely  simple  and  direct.  He  had  been  told 
by  an  old  gipsy  that  he  would  not  die  till  he  was 
a  certain  age,  and  believing  her  implicitly  he 
knew  absolutely  no  fear,  and  if  remonstrated 
with  for  taking  imnecessary  risks,  he  answered 
only:  "It  isn*t  my  time  to  die  yet." 

Taken  prisoner  by  the  Austrians  in  the  big  re- 
treat in  the  Carpathians,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
escape  and  get  back  to  Russia.  Feigning  illness 
and  a  sullen,  taciturn  character,  he  shut  himself 
early  in  his  room  every  evening,  and  refused  to 
come  out  till  quite  late  in  the  morning,  and  would 
not  allow  any  other  doctor  but  a  Russian  Pole 
to  come  near  him.    Finally,  having  made  all  his 


ISO         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

preparations,  he  disguised  himself  as  a  work- 
man and  managed  to  get  out  unobserved,  and  when 
the  doctor  went  to  his  room  the  next  morning  he 
found  there  another  Russian  officer  who  handed 
him  a  letter,  which  commanded  him  as  a  Russian 
subject  to  keep  silence  for  twenty-four  hours,  and 
told  him  that  a  duplicate  of  this  letter  had  already- 
been  sent  to  Russia,  so  that  if  he  disobeyed,  this 
disobedience  of  his  would  be  known. 

Meanwhile,  Komiloff,  having  changed  his  dis- 
guise to  that  of  an  Austrian  soldier,  managed  to 
get  as  far  as  Buda-Pesth.  A  little  beyond  this 
the  news  got  about  that  he  had  escaped  and  he 
and  the  two  Russian  soldiers  who  accompanied 
him  had  to  leave  the  trains  and  highroads  and 
keep  only  to  the  woods,  living  on  nuts  or  fruit  or 
anything  they  could  find  to  eat.  One  of  the 
soldiers,  giving  way  to  his  himger,  strayed  into  a 
village  and  evidently  got  killed,  but  Korniloff 
and  the  other  one,  marching  for  over  two  weeks, 
avoided  pursuit  and  managed  to  reach  the  frontier. 
They  were  nearly  stopped  there  by  the  soldiers 
on  guard,  who  said  that  a  Russian  general  had 
escaped  and  there  was  a  big  price  offered  for  his 
capture. 

*'A  Russian  general,"  Komiloff  answered. 
**They  are  always  old  and  decrepit  and  half- 
blind.  You'll  soon  recognise  him  if  he  passes 
this  way." 


FAILURE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  ARMY     151 

The  careless,  laughing  reply  averted  suspicion 
for  the  moment,  and,  having  waited  for  the  dark, 
Komiloff  and  his  companion  at  last  managed  to 
get  across  the  frontier  into  Russia. 


XXII 

THE  COUP  D'fiTAT  OF  KORNILOFF 

Sunday,  September  9,  was  a  day  as  warm  as 
summer,  with  a  cloudless  sky  above  the  golden 
spires,  and  the  river  a  thing  of  dreaming  beauty. 

My  father  left  early  in  the  morning  to  play  golf 
at  Mourina,  a  tiny  little  village  about  twenty 
miles  away,  where  a  rough  golf-course  had  been 
laid  out  by  members  of  the  English  colony.  He 
had  just  gone  when  my  mother  had  a  telephone 
message  saying  that  M.  Tereschenko,  who  was  on 
his  way  to  headquarters,  had  been  stopped  and 
called  back.  There  was  no  absolute  proof  of 
the  news  being  true,  but  somehow  a  vague  feel- 
ing spread  itself  roimd  the  town  that  something 
was  happening  or  was  just  going  to  happen.  It 
was  so  imdefined  that  nobody  could  explain  it 
or  give  it  a  reason,  but  when  several  times  during 
the  afternoon  they  telephoned  from  the  Foreign 
Office  asking  when  my  father  was  coming  back, 
and  urging  that  he  should  come  rotmd  there  at 
once,  we  began  to  believe  that  it  was  not  only 
our  imagination  but  that  something  serious  was 
really  the  matter. 

My  father  arrived  back  at  half  past  seven  and 
152 


THE  COUP  D'£TAT  of  KORNILOFF     153 

telephoned  at  once  to  the  Foreign  Office,  and  the 
message  came  back  asking  him  to  go  round  there 
directly  after  dinner.  A  little  after  eight  the 
French  ambassador  arrived  at  the  embassy  and 
went  off  with  my  father  to  the  Foreign  Office, 
and  presently  people  began  to  come  in  with  all 
sorts  of  various  reports.  Komiloff  had  declared 
himself  dictator  and  was  on  his  way  to  Petrograd, 
followed  by  all  the  Cossack  regiments.  Kerensky 
had  been  arrested.  Komiloff  had  been  stopped 
and  was  being  brought  to  the  capital  as  a  prisoner 
of  war.  Everybody  had  their  own  version,  and 
they  all  declared  that  they  had  received  their  in- 
formation from  a  reliable  source.  And  it  was  not 
till  my  father  at  last  got  back  from  the  Foreign 
Office  that  we  really  knew  what  was  the  truth, 
that  the  rivalry  between  Kerensky  and  Komiloff 
had  come  to  a  definite  split  that  might  lead  to 
civil  war. 

The  next  morning  the  special  edition  of  the 
papers  published  a  telegram  of  Kerensky*s  pro- 
claiming himself  dictator  and  commanding  Komi- 
loff to  resign  at  once.  My  father  came  back  very 
late  from  the  Foreign  Office  and,  sitting  down  at 
luncheon,  announced  briefly  that  my  mother  and 
I  must  leave  Petrograd  at  once,  that  Komiloff  had 
got  as  far  as  Luga,  where  all  the  troops  were  join- 
ing him,  and  that  he  was  now  advancing  on  Pet- 
rograd.    Arrangements  had  been  made  by  the 


1 54         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

government  to  convey  all  the  diplomatic  body  to 
a  place  of  safety  out  of  the  town,  and  there  was 
to  be  a  meeting  of  all  the  heads  of  missions  that 
afternoon  to  discuss  the  question  whether  they 
should  avail  themselves  of  these  facilities  or  not. 

**Do  you  yourself  mean  to  go?"  my  mother 
asked,  and  when  my  father  answered  that  in  any 
case  he  meant  to  stay  on,  she  said  that  she  meant 
to  stay  too.  My  father  gave  in  to  her  but  per- 
sisted in  his  determination  that  I  must  leave,  and, 
seeing  that  for  the  moment  it  was  no  good  ar- 
guing, I  said  I  would  try  and  make  arrangements 
to  do  so. 

All  the  afternoon  contradictory  reports  kept  on 
coming  in.  Komiloff's  army  was  said  to  have 
got  as  far  as  Gatchina,  and  meanwhile  in  Petro- 
grad  the  workmen  were  arming.  On  the  Tues- 
day morning  things  were  still  in  the  same  state, 
but  the  government,  recovering  a  little  from  the 
panic  of  the  first  hours,  were  assured  now  that 
Komiloff  would  not  succeed.  Motors  full  of 
soldiers,  machine-guns,  and  ammunition  passed 
through  the  town  and  out  toward  Czarskoe. 
Now  and  then  a  regiment  with  heavy  artillery 
marched  down  the  streets,  watched  by  a  silent 
crowd,  who  were  still  uncertain  with  which  side 
their  sympathies  lay.  Posters  had  been  stuck 
up  all  over  the  town  declaring  Komiloff  a  traitor 
to  the  revolution,  but,  on  the  whole,  popular  sym- 


THE  COUP  D'fiTAT  OF  KORNILOFF     155 

pathy  swayed  more  in  his  direction,  and  on  the 
Tuesday  evening  there  was  still  a  certain  con- 
viction that  he  would  win,  people  declaring  that 
all  the  troops  sent  out  against  him  were  going  over 
to  his  side. 

A  certain  amoimt  of  alarming  reports  were 
still  being  circulated,  one  being  that  KomiloflE 
meant  to  bombard  Petrograd  with  heavy  artil- 
lery, another  stating  that  his  troops  had  got 
poison-gas  from  a  factory  at  Luga  and  were 
going  to  use  that  to  force  an  entrance  into  the 
capital.  Arrangements  had  been  made  to  take 
a  lot  of  the  English  women  and  children  into 
the  empty  colony  hospital.  A  boat  had  also  been 
chartered  to  convey  some  of  them  to  a  place  of 
safety  down  the  river.  I  had  persuaded  my 
father  to  let  me  remain  on  in  Petrograd,  though 
I  promised  to  go  to  the  hospital  as  soon  as  any 
serious  trouble  began. 

On  Wednesday  morning,  however,  the  papers 
published  a  note  from  the  government  stating  that 
the  attempt  of  General  Korniloff  to  overthrow  the 
revolution  had  failed,  and  my  father  heard  from 
the  Foreign  Office  that  all  the  troops  were  desert- 
ing him  and  joining  the  government. 

When  I  went  out  that  afternoon  a  dead  calm 
lay  over  the  streets,  armed  soldiers  stood  on  guard 
ever5rwhere,  hardly  any  motors  or  carriages  were 
circulating,  the  few  people  about  wore  a  furtive, 


IS6  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

anxious  expression  or  stood  together  in  groups 
talking  in  low,  mysterious  voices.  And  every- 
body had  a  different  theory,  a  different  explana- 
tion. One  man  I  met  who  was  employed  at  the 
Foreign  Office  raised  his  shoulders  and  spread  out 
his  hands.  **It's  all  over,"  he  told  me.  "Komi- 
loff  has  given  himself  up.  The  whole  thing  has 
fizzled  out.**  Another  man  assured  me  in  a  whis- 
per that  we  knew  only  one  side  of  the  question, 
and  that  the  government  were  keeping  back  the 
true  facts  of  the  case.  Still  a  third  man,  a  yoimg 
Russian  officer  working  in  the  Staff,  laughed  at 
everything.  Over?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  govern- 
ment, of  course,  pretended  that  they  had  won 
the  day,  but  Komiloff's  troops  had  taken  Balagoi, 
which  meant  he  could  starve  out  the  capital.  It 
was  qmte  impossible  that  he  should  fail. 

So  for  two  more  days  we  continued  in  this  state 
of  imcertainty,  different  reports  coming  in  at 
every  moment,  till  on  the  6th  came  the  official 
announcement  that  General  Alexief  had  arrived 
at  headquarters  to  take  up  the  post  of  com- 
mander-in-chief, and  that  General  Komiloff, 
Loukhomsky,  and  Romanovsky  had  been  placed 
imder  arrest. 

So  intricate  and  contradictory  are  the  workings 
of  the  whole  plot  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
know  what  really  happened,  or  what  is  the  exact 
truth.    Already  for  some  time  past  there  had  been 


THE  COUP  D'fiTAT  OF  KORNILOFF     157 

vague  talk  of  a  counter-revolutionary  party  who 
intended  to  overthrow  the  government  and  dis- 
solve the  Soviet,  but  whether  Komiloff  had  any 
sympathy  with  them  is  very  much  to  be  doubted. 
What  seems,  however,  certain  is  that,  fearing 
a  Bolshevik  rising,  the  government  negotiated 
with  Komiloff  to  send  troops  up  to  Petrograd  to 
quell  the  insurrection  tinder  the  command  of 
General  Kjimoff.  Then  M.  Vladimir  Lvoff, 
former  procurator  of  the  Holy  Synod,  arrived  at 
headquarters,  authorised  by  Kerensky  to  discuss 
the  situation  with  General  Komiloff  and  come  to 
an  agreement  as  to  the  formation  of  a  stronger 
government.  Did  he  wilfully  exceed  his  powers 
or  only  inadvertently  make  the  mistake  that 
brought  about  such  disaster?  According  to  the 
statement  made  by  M.  Savinkoff,  he  was  au- 
thorised to  lay  three  propositions  before  General 
Komiloff,  the  first  being  that  he  should  form  a 
government  with  Kerensky  as  minister  of  justice 
and  Savinkoff  as  minister  of  war;  the  second 
that  he  should  declare  himsell  dictator;  the  third 
that  he,  M.  Kerensky,  and  Savinkoff  should  form 
a  triumvirate  having  equal  powers  of  govern- 
ment. General  Komiloff  adopted  the  third  prop- 
osition, and  M.  Lvoff  returned  to  Petrograd 
charged  with  his  answer.  But,  whether  inten- 
tionally or  by  mistake,  he  informed  Kerensky 
that  Komiloff  had  chosen  the  second  proposition. 


IS8  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Doubting  the  possibility  of  such  an  answer, 
Kerensky  connected  himself  by  wireless  with 
the  Stavka  and  asked  General  Komiloff  whether 
he  confirmed  the  message  M.  Lvoff  had  deliv- 
ered. Believing  the  question  to  refer  to  the  pro- 
posed triumvirate,  General  Komiloff  replied  in 
the  affirmative,  but  Kerensky  did  not  at  once 
break  with  him  and  it  was  only  imder  pressiu-e 
from  M.  Nekrassoff,  minister  of  ways  and  com- 
munications, that  he  eventually  decided  to  treat 
Korniloff  as  a  traitor  and  demand  his  instant 
resignation.  This  sudden  distrust  and  change 
decided  General  Komiloff  to  act  alone  and  he 
ordered  his  troops  to  advance  on  Petrograd.  Had 
he  led  them  in  person  the  ultimate  result  might 
have  been  different,  but  he  remained  at  head- 
quarters to  direct  operations  and  unfortunately 
did  not  take  the  troops  into  his  confidence.  The 
soldiers  believed  they  were  going  to  quell  a  Bol- 
shevik insurrection,  and  when  they  came  near  the 
capital  and  foimd  that  they  were  to  fight  against 
the  government,  declared  that  they  had  been  or- 
dered to  advance  under  false  pretences.  Bol- 
shevik propaganda  spread  its  insidious  reports 
among  them:  Komiloff  was  a  traitor  and  a  spy, 
he  had  committed  suicide,  he  was  plotting  against 
the  revolution.  Swayed  this  way  and  that,  the 
troops  wavered,  and  at  last,  tuming  against  their 
officers,  refused  to  advance. 


XXIII 
A  SOLDIER 

Once  again  stillness  and  monotony — or  so  it 
^  seemed  after  the  suspense  and  imcertainty  of 
those  days !  And  the  siimmer  had  died  with  a 
tragic  suddenness.  A  cold,  bleak  wind  rufHed  the 
waters  of  the  Neva,  sea-gulls  wheeled  and  flashed 
white  wings  against  the  dull,  grey  sky.  For  a  day 
or  two  the  leaves  in  the  Summer  Gardens  glowed 
the  colour  of  amber  and  gold  and  red,  only  to 
fall  all  too  quickly,  whirled  in  circles  across  the 
dead,  brown  grass,  leaving  bare,  dark  trees  to 
wave  skeleton  arms  in  the  wind. 

And  it  seemed  that  with  Korniloff's  downfall 
the  glory  of  the  Russian  army  was  gone  for  ever, 
that  nothing  was  left  of  it  but  a  rabble  of  dirty, 
disorderly  soldiers  who  spent  their  days  slouch- 
ing forlornly  about  the  streets,  taking  free  rides 
in  trams,  stealing  and  drinking  whenever  the 
opporttinity  offered.  Only  now  and  then  one  of 
the  old  soldiers  would  come  to  us,  either  at  the 
embassy  or  at  my  mother's  Red  Cross  store,  and 
tell  us  with  tears  in  his  eyes  that  he  had  rather 
have  been  killed  by  the  Germans  than  live  to  see 

159 


i6o         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

the  shame  of  his  country.  Most  of  these  men 
were  soldiers  of  the  old  army  who  had  been  pris- 
oners in  Germany  and  been  sent  back  to  Russia 
as  helpless  cripples.  I  saw  a  good  many  of 
them  and,  as  far  as  my  Russian  would  permit, 
talked  with  them  and  got  to  know  the  attitude  of 
their  minds.  I  think,  perhaps,  a  sketch  I  wrote 
at  this  time  will  show  more  clearly  than  any  other 
explanation  what  it  was. 

**He  had  been  taken  from  his  little  brown  vil- 
lage far  away  in  the  wilds  of  Siberia  to  fight  in 
a  war  whose  cause  and  reason  he  did  not  under- 
stand, whose  aims  achieved  would  never,  per- 
haps, make  much  difference  to  him,  for  a  liberty 
he  personally  would  never  profit  by.  Neverthe- 
less, because  he  was  told  it  was  a  good  war  he 
was  ready  to  come,  and  because  he  was  told  to 
hate  the  Germans  he  did  so  to  the  best  of  his 
ability — and,  anyhow,  he  was  told  that  he  was 
fighting  for  his  Emperor,  and  therefore  he  asked 
no  more. 

**He  had  been  made  to  march  for  miles  and 
weary  miles  over  impassable  roads  in  boots  that 
made  his  feet  raw  and  blistered.  He  had  stood  for 
days  in  a  frozen  trench  in  a  cold  that  pierced  and 
cut  like  a  himdred  knives.  Once  he  had  been 
woimded — ^had  been  jolted  in  intolerable  agony  in 
a  springless  cart,  had  lain  on  straw  in  a  ward  so 
crowded  that  the  sister  had  no  room  to  pass  be- 


A  SOLDIER  i6i 

tween  him  and  his  neighbour.  She  had  been  an 
angel  of  goodness,  that  sister,  her  young  face 
drawn  by  an  unbearable  weariness — ^but  what 
could  she  do  when  in  that  huge,  bam-like  ward 
more  than  seventy  voices  called  on  her  unceas- 
ingly begging  her  to  ease  their  pain  ?  His  band- 
ages had  become  a  hard  weight  of  blood-soaked 
linen,  but  when  he  begged  her  to  give  him  fresh 
ones  ahe  shook  her  head,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 
*How  can  I  do  it  ?*  she  had  answered.  *No  new 
supply  of  bandages  has  come  to  us — and  we  have 
nothing — ^nothing.*  Then  a  man  raving  in  fever 
had  called  to  her  and  she  had  hurried  away — and 
he  could  only  lie  and  watch  her — and  hope  that, 
perhaps,  in  passing  she  would  lay  a  hand  for  a 
moment  on  his  head — or  bring  him  a  longed-for 
cup  of  tea. 

"Nevertheless,  he  had  got  slowly  better,  had 
been  sent  out  again  to  join  his  regiment,  had  re- 
treated with  them  step  by  step,  fighting  desper- 
ately, stubbornly,  heroically — till  he  had  no  car- 
tridges left,  and  they  told  him  there  were  no  more 
to  be  had. 

"He  had  no  clear  recollection  of  being  wounded 
that  second  time.  He  only  remembered  waking 
up  to  an  unbelievable  pain,  seeing  German  imi- 
forms  round  him,  hearing  German  voices.  They 
told  him,  smiling,  that  the  Russians  had  been 
beaten,  that  a  whole  division  had  been  cut  up, 


i62         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

and  that  his  general  was  a  prisoner  like  himself. 
Through  the  agony  that  wracked  him  he  longed 
to  strike  at  their  red,  leering  faces,  but  he  was 
too  weak  to  even  as  much  as  lift  a  finger,  and 
could  only  drift  off  again  into  a  confused  dream  of 
pain. 

''Days  and  weeks  and  months  had  dragged 
themselves  away  in  a  weary  eternity  of  suffering. 
He  had  watched  others  die  to  right  and  left  of 
him  and  had  wished  that  he  could  die  too.  Then, 
when  he  thought  of  the  young  wife  he  had  left 
behind  in  the  far-away  Siberian  village,  he  was 
sorry.  Did  she  think  he  was  already  dead  since 
she  had  not  heard  from  him  for  so  long  a  time? 
Or  did  she,  perhaps,  still  pray  for  him  in  the  little 
white  church  with  its  bright-blue  roof?  She  had 
promised  to  bum  a  candle  every  week  for  his 
safety  before  the  ikon  of  his  patron  saint — did 
she  still  keep  that  promise?  Perhaps  a  child 
had  been  bom  since  they  took  him  away.  He 
wondered  was  it  a  girl  or  a  boy. 

"And  still  the  monotonous  months  passed  on 
and  summer  became  winter,  and  winter  passed 
into  spring,  and  presently  they  moved  him  to  an- 
other hospital  in  a  prison- camp.  They  told  him 
that  his  leg  would  always  be  a  useless,  shrivelled 
thing,  that  one  day,  when  his  turn  came,  he  would 
be  returned  to  Russia  in  exchange  for  some  crip- 
pled German. 


A  SOLDIER  163 

**  There  were  English  and  French,  too,  in  this 
prison-camp,  herded  together,  given  only  filthy 
food  to  eat,  kept  in  intolerable  dirt  and  damp. 
Illness  and  disease  raged,  and  again  he  watched 
many  comrades  die,  and  very  nearly  died  himself. 
But  now  he  climg  onto  life  with  all  the  feeble 
strength  left  in  him.  He  wanted  to  get  back 
to  Russia.  Perhaps,  in  spite  of  his  shrivelled  leg, 
they  would  let  him  fight  again.  He  tmderstood 
the  meaning  of  the  war  more  fully  now.  With  all 
his  heart  he  hated  the  Germans — and  dimly  his 
brain  grasped  what  it  would  mean  if  they  were 
not  beaten. 

"And  then  when  another  winter  was  through, 
when  he  had  nearly  lost  all  hope,  they  came  and 
told  him  that  his  turn  had  come — ^he  was  to  be 
sent  back  to  Russia. 

"  Of  the  journey  he  remembered  very  little.  Ill 
and  intolerably  weak  as  he  was,  it  was  just  a  con- 
fused passing  of  many  new  impressions  that  left 
him  dazed  and  bewildered. 

"And  when  at  last  he  arrived  at  the  capital  he 
had  never  seen,  and  was  taken  to  a  hospital  with 
big  white  wards,  they  told  him  of  the  wonderful 
change  that  had  come  to  Russia,  of  the  freedom 
that  meant  the  birth  of  a  new  day.  They  told 
him  that  the  government  had  been  replaced  by 
men  ready  to  give  their  lives  for  the  good  of  the 
people,  and  the  soldier,  lying  on  his  narrow  bed 


i64  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

and  remembering  many  wrongs,  cheered  feebly. 
Then  they  told  him  that  the  Emperor  had  ab- 
dicated and  that  Russia  was  now  a  republic,  and 
when,  not  imderstanding  the  word,  he  asked, 
'Who  then  is  Tsar?*  they  answered,  laughing, 
that  there  was  no  Tsar,  and  never  would  be  one 
again.  And  he  was  silent,  frowning  a  little,  try- 
ing to  adjust  his  mind  to  these  new  ideas — Russia 
without  a  Little  Father ! 

"The  want  of  proper  food,  neglect,  and  bad 
treatment  had  left  him  terribly  weak,  and  he  was 
a  long,  long  time  getting  better,  but  at  last  he 
was  able  to  crawl  about  the  ward,  and  still  later 
they  told  him  that  he  might  go  out,  and,  hobbling 
painfully  on  crutches,  he  dragged  himself  about 
the  town,  looking  at  everything  with  puzzled  eyes. 

**  Everywhere  the  streets  were  crowded  with 
lounging,  idle  soldiers,  leaning  against  the  walls 
and  door-posts,  standing  in  groups  round  some 
shrieking  orator.  And  everjnvhere  the  murmur 
of  talk  was  *Down  with  the  war!  Why  should 
we  go  on  fighting  when  we  can  have  bread  and 
land  and  liberty  without  doing  so  any  more  ?  We 
have  suffered  and  starved  for  three  years  and  have 
gained  nothing.  Our  brothers  have  been  killed, 
our  women  and  children  have  died — and  for  what 
reason  ?    For  whom  ?  * 

"  Leaning  on  his  crutches  the  soldier  listened 
and  frowned.     *No — no,*  he  said  quickly.     'No, 


A  SOLDIER  i6s 

brothers,,  you  are  wrong.  Have  we  not  signed 
treaties  with  England  and  France,  and  are  they 
not  fighting  with  us?  How  can  we  make  peace 
without  them  ?  * 

*'  One  or  two  men  in  the  crowd  paused  uncer- 
tainly, but  the  man  who  had  been  speaking  threw 
out  his  hands:  'The  Allies — ^well,  let  them  go  on 
fighting — ^is  it  not  so,  comrades?  The  treaties 
were  made  by  the  old  government — signed  by  the 
old  autocracy  that  now  no  longer  exists.  They 
were  destroyed  in  the  glorious  dawn  of  the  revolu- 
tion— ^therefore,  they  are  no  longer  valid.* 

*'And  the  crowd  cheered  the  plausible  argument 
they  only  half  understood,  and  the  soldier  turned 
wearily  away,  down  the  grey  street  to  the  hospital. 
He  had  given  of  his  youth  and  strength,  he  was 
crippled  and  broken  and  ill,  there  was  no  Little 
Father  now  to  want  his  service — ^there  was  noth- 
ing left  to  fight  for. 

*'A  gust  of  wind  flapped  the  grimy  red  flags 
hanging  over  the  doors,  a  few  drops  of  rain  drove 
into  his  face — ^from  the  distance  came  the  echo  of 
some  band  playing  the  'Marseillaise.* 


XXIV 
AUTUMN,  1917 

Meanwhile  the  Germans  gained  ground  stead- 
ily and  the  retreat  of  the  Russian  army  had  be- 
come a  flight,  and  when  at  the  Democratic  Con- 
ference Kerensky  announced  that  the  German 
fleet  was  in  the  Baltic,  the  news  was  enthusiasti- 
cally cheered  by  the  Bolshevik  members. 

Reval  was  now  in  the  greatest  danger,  and 
Petrograd  itself  was  hardly  safe.  On  the  13  th  of 
October  the  Germans  landed  troops  on  the  islands 
of  Oesel  and  Pago.  The  admiral  of  the  Baltic 
fleet,  who  had  been  elected  by  the  sailors,  made 
mistake  after  mistake.  People  began  to  talk  of 
a  possible  bombardment  of  Petrograd  from  the 
sea;  others  made  elaborate  calculations  as  to  how 
long  it  would  take  the  Germans  to  reach  the 
capital  if  they  continued  advancing  and  the  Rus- 
sians continued  retreating  as  they  were  doing  at 
that  moment. 

Everybody  who  could  go  was  leaving.  Nearly 
all  the  women  and  children  of  the  British  colony 
were  being  sent  away,  though  several  wives  re- 
fused to  leave  their  husbands  and  preferred  to 

166 


AUTUMN,   1917  167 

stay  on,  braving  the  discomforts  and  hardships 
of  daily  Hfe  in  Petrograd.  It  was  a  tragic  break- 
ing up  of  little  homes,  a  constant  bidding  farewell 
to  those  who  were  going,  leaving  behind  all  the 
associations  of  their  childhood,  all  the  treasured 
possessions  of  many  years  of  work  and  pleasure. 
Every  Sunday  the  church  on  the  English  quay 
got  emptier,  every  Monday  the  work-party  at 
the  embassy  got  smaller. 

The  shadow  of  the  revolution  spread  over  small 
and  great,  rich  and  poor,  bringing  with  it,  not  the 
glory  and  liberty  it  had  promised,  but  ruin  and 
disgrace — famine,  poverty,  destruction. 

And  still  the  Germans  advanced,  and  the  ques- 
tion, "Are  the  government  going  to  evacuate 
Petrograd?"  was  asked  every  day  with  greater 
insistence,  while  every  day  a  different  decision 
was  published  in  the  papers,  only  to  be  contra- 
dicted in  the  evening. 

Secretly  we  were  told  that  it  was  very  likely 
we  should  have  to  move  to  Moscow.  Arrange- 
ments were  being  made  to  put  up  the  various 
foreign  missions,  and  Prince  Yusupoff's  palace 
was  to  be  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  British 
embassy. 

Meanwhile  barges  and  motor-lorries  were  filled 
with  treasures  from  the  Hermitage  and  other  mu- 
seimis  and  old  papers  and  ciphers  from  the  vari- 
ous ministries.     And  it  is  possible  that  they  were 


i68  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

packed  with  more  haste  than  care,  for  one  of  the 
barges  in  front  of  the  Winter  Palace,  filled  with 
papers  from  the  Foreign  Office,  was  so  heavily 
weighted  that  it  sank  before  it  ever  got  away. 
**What  can  one  do?"  the  soldiers  said  as  they 
watched  it  go  without  making  a  movement  to  save 
it,  "nitchevo,"  and,  shrugging  their  shoulders, 
they  moved  slowly  on  down  the  quay. 

It  was  one  of  these  days  that  we  dined  at  the 
French  embassy  to  meet  Monsieur  Maklakoff, 
who  had  just  been  appointed  ambassador  to  Paris. 
It  was,  I  remember,  a  very  interesting  dinner — 
interesting  to  watch,  at  least — one  of  those 
dinners  when,  perhaps,  the  women  got  rather 
neglected  and  the  men  stood  about  in  groups 
talking  in  low  voices  and  with  grave,  preoccupied 
faces,  when  the  very  air  seemed  heavy  with  the 
weight  of  great  political  questions  that,  hanging 
in  the  balance,  left  the  fate  of  nations  undecided. 
Monsieur  Tereschenko  was  dining  there  too,  and 
after  dinner  I  sat  in  my  little  comer  and  watched 
him  standing  over  by  the  big  fireplace  in  deep  con- 
versation with  Monsieur  Maklakoff.  I  knew  just 
a  little  of  the  subject  that  was  imder  discussion, 
but  it  was  not  only  that  that  kept  me  inthralled, 
but  the  picture  those  two  men  made  in  the  vast 
red  drawing-room,  and  a  sudden  sense  of  my  own 
enormous  imimportance,  of  the  littleness  of  human 
life  in  general  as  compared  to  the  significance  of 


AUTUMN,   1917  169 

these  days  we  live  in.  If  I  shut  my  eyes  I  can 
still  see  that  big  red  room,  with  its  glass  chande- 
liers and  formal  gold  furniture;  the  group  of 
women  sitting  somewhat  disconsolately  over  by 
the  windows,  with  two  of  the  French  secretaries 
trying  to  make  up  to  them  for  the  lengthiness  of 
the  evening.  The  French  ambassador  in  one  cor- 
ner in  deep  conversation  with  my  father,  and  in 
the  centre  of  the  room  those  two  men,  both  re- 
presenting in  their  different  ways  the  power  and 
genius  of  Russia — ^not  the  Russia  of  Rasputin, 
Nihilist  bombs,  and  champagne-drinking  aristoc- 
racy, nor  yet  the  Russia  of  chaos,  dirt,  and  dis- 
order of  Boshevism,  but  the  Russia  that  can  still 
boast  her  great  men  and  brilliant  thinkers,  the 
country  that  holds  all  those  who  love  her  with  a 
chain  that  neither  absence  nor  distance  can  break. 
The  conversation  ended  at  last,  and,  coming 
across  to  me.  Monsieur  Maklakoff  sat  down  be- 
side me  with  a  little  sigh:  *'I've  had  enough 
of  politics  for  this  evening,"  he  said,  his  deep-set, 
very  bright  blue  eyes  smiling  at  me.  **  To- 
morrow I  am  going  to  Moscow  and — "  But  he 
had  not  done  with  politics  yet,  and  I  was  not  to 
know  what  he  was  going  to  do  in  Moscow,  for 
at  that  moment  the  French  ambassador  came 
up  and  carried  him  off  to  another  comer  to  enter 
into  a  long  whispered  conversation.  He  left 
about  a  month  later  for  Paris,  but  he  had  hardly 


I70         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

arrived  there  when  the  government  he  was  to 
represent  was  deposed  and  the  country  he  so 
much  loved  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  rabble  who 
called  themselves  idealists  and  patriots.  Looking 
back,  now,  I  am  even  more  grateful  than  I  was 
at  the  time  for  his  unfailing  kindness  to  me  on 
those  rare  occasions  when  I  met  him,  and  I  would 
like  to  be  able  to  tell  him  how  very  deeply  I  appre- 
ciate it.  One  of  Russia's  greatest  politicians  and 
orators,  I  hate  to  think  how  he  must  suffer  in  his 
country's  tragedy  and  temporary  disgrace  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world — a  world  that  is  always  so  ready 
to  judge  by  effects  and  so  seldom  stops  to  consider 
causes  and  reasons. 

Autumn  was  beginning  to  pass  into  winter, 
the  Democratic  Conference  was  held  without  any 
very  great  results  and  passed  a  number  of  con- 
tradictory resolutions,  in  spite  of  which,  however, 
a  coalition  government  was  formed.  A  little 
later  the  Provisional  Coimcil  was  opened  to  act 
as  a  buffer  between  the  Soviet  and  the  govern- 
ment and,  it  was  hoped, "^would  prove  successful 
in  bridging  over  the  gulf  between  the  two. 

Meanwhile  Kerensky's  popularity  was  increas- 
ingly on  the  wane.  His  arrogance  had  set  peo- 
ple against  him,  and  all  sorts  of  stories  as  to  his 
mode  of  life  in  the  Winter  Palace  were  afloat  in 
the  town.  The  part  supposed  to  have  been  taken 
by  him  in  the  affair  of  General  Korniloff  was  also 


AUTUMN,  1917  171 

severely  criticised,  and  when  he  made  his  speech 
at  the  opening  of  the  Provisional  Council  the  feel- 
ing of  the  house  was  nearly  all  against  him. 

Nevertheless,  his  power  of  oratory  and  the  force 
and  sincerity  of  his  words  carried  his  hearers 
away  in  a  burst  of  renewed  enthusiasm.  An 
article  in  one  of  the  papers  describing  the  scene 
holds  him  up  to  ridicule  as  aping  Napoleon,  who 
had  not  this  fluency  of  language,  but  who  knew 
how  to  act,  and,  bitterly  attacking  him  for  the 
conceit  of  the  two  aide-de-camps  standing  rigidly 
at  attention  behind  him,  had  yet  at  the  end  to 
concede  to  him  the  victory  of  having  convinced 
his  audience  of  his  integrity  and  having  secured 
a  big  personal  success  by  a  wonderful  piece  of 
oratory. 

It  was  decided  at  this  time  that  Russian  dele- 
gates were  to  take  part  in  the  conference  of  the 
Allies  in  Paris.  Monsieur  Tereschenko  was  to 
go  at  the  head  of  the  delegation  and  my  father 
was  to  accompany  him. 

Even  the  thought  of  coming  back  to  England 
could  not  do  away  with  the  pang  I  felt  at  leaving 
Petrograd.  Although  our  absence  was  only  sup- 
posed to  last  six  weeks,  I  had  the  feeling  that  once 
we  left  we  should  not  come  back,  and  everywhere 
and  in  everything  there  was  the  certainty  of  some 
further  cataclysm  or  crisis  approaching,  and 
curiosity  made  me  want  desperately  badly  to  be 


172  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

there  when  it  happened.  There  was,  too,  such  a 
lot  of  work  to  be  done.  The  hospital  and  the 
refugees  were  things  of  the  past,  but  my  mother's 
Red  Cross  store  kept  us  busy  three  afternoons  a 
week,  while  every  morning  one  or  two  of  the 
English  ladies  who  were  left  came  to  the  embassy 
to  make  the  pneumonia  jackets,  foot-bags,  eye- 
pads,  and  other  bandages  and  dressings  that  were 
needed  to  keep  it  going.  The  Russian  Red  Cross 
was  becoming  daily  worse  off  for  every  kind  of 
requisite,  and  the  doctors  and  sisters  from  all 
the  hospitals  in  the  town  came  to  our  little  store 
begging  for  splints — a  few  bandages — some  as- 
pirin— anything  we  could  give  them. 

An  old  wine-shop  had  been  given  us  by  the 
authorities  and  the  shelves  were  filled  with  the 
stores  and  provisions  that  had  been  sent  out  from 
England,  and  the  various  medical  dressings  that 
were  made  in  the  embassy.  It  was  very  hot  in 
summer  and  very  cold  in  winter,  but  as  a  child  I 
had  loved  playing  at  shopkeeping,  and  I  always 
had  rather  the  feeling  that  this  was  a  kind  of 
grown-up  game,  though  certainly  it  entailed  a 
fair  amount  of  hard  work  unpacking  the  cases 
from  England,  making  assortments  of  the  vari- 
ous things  wanted  for  the  different  hospitals, 
and  packing  the  cases  that  were  to  be  sent  to  them. 

On  October  21,  Monsieur  Tereschenko  made  a 
speech  at  the  Provisional  Coimcil,  in  which  he 


AUTUMN,   1917  173 

firmly  withstood  the  claim  of  the  Soviet  to  be 
represented  at  the  Paris  conference  by  a  dele- 
gate who  would  have  an  equal  right  with  him- 
self, and  insisted  that  he,  as  head  of  the  delega- 
tion, must  be  the  sole  mouthpiece  of  the  Russian 
people,  though  the  representative  of  the  Demo- 
cratic organisations  who  was  to  accompany  him 
would  be  free  to  express  his  views  to  him  per- 
sonally. As  a  restdt  of  this  speech  Monsieur 
Tereschenko  was  bitterly  attacked  by  all  the 
Extremist  papers,  and  it  seemed  for  a  time  even 
doubtful  whether  he  would  stay  in  office.  Finally, 
however,  his  firmness  carried  the  day,  and  the 
date  of  our  departure  was  fixed  for  the  4th  of 
November. 

So  violent,  however,  was  the  feeling  of  the 
Socialist  party  against  Monsieur  Tereschenko  and 
his  mission  that  fotir  days  before  we  were  to  start 
he  received  a  warning  that  the  train  would  be 
stopped  near  Helsingfors  and  that  he  would  be 
arrested  and  not  allowed  to  proceed,  and  our 
journey  was  accordingly  put  off  for  a  few  days. 


XXV 

THE  BOLSHEVIKS  STRIKE 

On  and  off  for  the  last  weeks  a  Bolshevik  rising 
had  been  spoken  of  as  likely  to  take  place  at  any 
moment,  but  when  my  father  urged  Kerensky  to 
take  strong  measures  against  them  he  replied 
that  the  government  could  not  take  the  initiative, 
but  that  they  had  forces  enough  on  their  side  to 
suppress  any  rising  should  it  take  place. 

The  first  sign  that  they  were  really  expecting 
trouble,  was  on  Saturday,  November  3,  when 
about  ten  cadets  of  the  military  school  arrived 
imexpectedly  at  the  embassy,  saying  that  they 
had  been  sent  to  guard  the  building.  We  were 
already  more  or  less  packed  up  for  our  journey 
to  England,  which  had  been  put  off  now  from  the 
4th  to  the  8th  of  November,  so  we  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  preparing  rooms  and  beds  at  a  moment's 
notice.  However,  we  managed  finally  to  provide 
accommodation  of  sorts. 

The  Bolsheviks  were  supposed  to  be  going  "to 
do  something" — nobody  quite  knew  what — on  the 
Sunday,  but,  as  usual,  when  one  was  prepared  for 
all  sorts  of  tremendous  things,  nothing  happened 

174 


THE  BOLSHEVIKS  STRIKE        175 

at  all,  and  the  day  passed  perfectly  quietly  with 
no  sign  of  trouble  or  disturbance. 

On  Monday,  Monsieur  Tereschenko,  Tretiakoff , 
and  Kamavaloff  were  coming  to  luncheon.  At 
about  ten  minutes  to  one  we  noticed  a  sudden 
wild  excitement  among  the  cadets,  and  presently 
one  of  them  came  to  tell  my  father  that  they  had 
just  had  a  telephone  message  from  a  reliable 
sotirce  saying  that  the  Soviet  had  taken  over  the 
government  and  that  all  the  ministers  were  going, 
though  they  were  to  be  allowed  to  remain  in  office 
for  five  more  days  till  the  new  government  had 
been  formed  and  elected. 

While  we  were  wondering  what  this  could  possi- 
bly mean,  Monsieiu*  Tereschenko  and  Kamavaloff 
were  announced.  My  father  told  them  of  the 
report  he  had  just  heard,  and  they  laughingly 
answered  that  the  annoimcement  of  the  fall  of 
the  government  was  perhaps  slightly  premature. 
They  seemed  perfectly  confident  that  they  would 
be  able  to  deal  with  the  Bolsheviks  should  they 
really  attempt  a  rising,  and  yet  one  had  the  feel- 
ing that  there  was  something  behind  that  they 
did  not  wish  us  to  know,  some  anxiety  of  which 
they  did  not  speak  but  hid  under  an  air  of  quiet 
assurance. 

Looking  back  on  that  limcheon  now,  one  won- 
ders why  we  did  not  feel  more  clearly  the  shadow 
of  coming  disaster  and  tragedy.    Anxious  we  may 


176         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

have  been,  and  yet  we  talked  and  made  plans 
that  were  never  to  be  realised,  and  discussed  our 
journey  to  England  with  Monsieur  Tereschenko 
as  if  it  was  an  assured  fact,  though  I  remember 
that  when  my  father  said  to  him,  "I  shan't  be- 
lieve we  are  really  going  till  we  are  in  the  train," 
he  answered  half  laughingly:  *'I  shan't  believe 
it  till  we  have  crossed  the  Swedish  frontier." 

That  was  the  last  time  we  saw  Monsieur  Teres- 
chenko, and  though  he  has  now  escaped  from 
prison,  he  went  through  experiences  there  that 
must  have  made  a  lasting  impression  on  him. 
Tall,  dark,  and  clean-shaven,  he  might  almost 
have  passed  for  English  save  for  the  way  his 
long-shaped  eyes  were  set,  and,  indeed,  he  spoke 
English  without  the  trace  of  a  foreign  accent, 
and  French  with  a  perfection  that  is  very  rarely 
heard.  Yoimg  as  he  was,  he  had  held  the  diffi- 
cult post  of  minister  of  foreign  affairs  with  a 
wonderful  endurance  and  concentration  of  effort, 
and,  had  his  advice  been  followed  more  often,  it  is 
possible  that  the  revolution  might  have  yielded 
some  of  those  great  things  that  had  been  expected 
of  it. 

That  afternoon  the  town  seemed  perfectly 
quiet  and  normal,  but  at  about  six  o'clock  a  friend 
telephoned  to  us  warning  us  that  there  was  to  be 
a  big  armed  demonstration  of  the  Bolsheviks 
during  the  night,  and  that  all  the  lights  in  the 


THE  BOLSHEVIKS  STRIKE        177 

town  were  to  be  cut  off  at  eight  o'clock.  And  a 
little  later  one  of  the  cadets  again  came  to  my 
father  to  tell  him  that  they  had  heard  from  the 
cadets  who  were  guarding  Monsieur  Tereschenko 
that  they  had  received  orders  not  to  defend  him, 
but  to  give  him  up  without  resistance  to  any  armed 
force  that  might  come  to  arrest  him. 

My  father,  accordingly,  sent  round  one  of  the 
secretaries  to  warn  him  of  his  danger  and,  having 
prepared  candles  and  electric  torches,  we  waited 
for  fiu*ther  events. 

The  feeHng  that  at  any  moment  all  the  lights 
might  go  out  and  the  town  be  plunged  in  dark- 
ness was  a  little  uncomfortable;  however,  again 
nothing  happened,  the  Bolshevik  demonstration 
was  countermanded,  and  in  the  early  hours  of 
Tuesday  morning  the  government,  taking  a  firm 
line,  seized  the  printing-presses  of  some  of  the 
Bolshevik  newspapers,  and  also  passed  the  decision 
to  arrest  the  members  of  the  revolutionary  mili- 
tary committee  that  had  been  formed  by  the 
Soviet. 

Otir  boxes  were  nearly  all  packed  now,  our 
tickets  were  taken,  and  the  arrangements  for  our 
start  on  Thursday  morning  were  completed; 
nevertheless,  on  Tuesday  evening  we  began  seri- 
ously to  doubt  whether  we  should  really  get  off. 
We  had  been  to  the  Red  Cross  store  as  usual  in  the 
afternoon,    and   everything   then    seemed   fairly 


178  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

quiet  and  normal,  but  just  after  we  got  back  we 
had  a  telephone  message  to  say  that  the  Nicholas 
Bridge  was  up  and  that  fighting  had  begun  on 
the  Wyborg  side;  and  a  few  minutes  later  some- 
body else  telephoned  to  say  that  the  Soviet  had 
passed  a  resolution  to  arrest  all  the  ministers  and 
form  a  new  government. 

No  lamps  had  been  lit  in  the  streets;  in  the  grim, 
bleak  light  of  the  winter  evening  a  mass  of  people 
poured  across  the  Troitzky  Bridge,  cab-drivers 
whipping  up  their  tired  horses  to  a  frantic  gallop, 
motors  hooting  desperately,  tram-bells  clanging. 
Rumours  had  spread  through  the  town  that  all 
the  bridges  were  to  be  taken  up,  the  shops  had 
been  closed  an  hour  earlier  than  usual,  and  busi- 
ness people,  peaceable  citizens,  women,  and 
children  were  hurrying  to  get  home  before  the 
trouble  started.  Here  and  there  sullen  soldiers, 
armed  with  rifles  and  bayonets,  stood  and  watched 
the  passing  crowds,  or  a  workman,  his  gun  slung 
over  his  shoulder,  jeered  savagely  as  he  pushed 
his  way  among  them.  And  grey,  in  the  grey 
light,  the  fortress  frowned  from  the  opposite  shore, 
and  grey,  on  the  grey  river,  thin  blocks  of  ice 
floated  down  toward  the  sea,  while  little  half- 
frozen  flakes  of  snow  drifted  down  from  the  leaden 
clouds. 

By  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  streets  were 
absolutely  deserted,   only  now  and  then  small 


THE  BOLSHEVIKS  STRIKE        179 

companies  of  soldiers,  or  two  or  three  armed 
workmen  hurried  past.  A  dead  stillness  seemed 
to  brood  over  everything,  a  stillness  that  seemed 
to  be  alive  with  whispers,  and  shadowy  figures, 
and  dim,  mtifHed  footsteps. 

All  during  the  evening  various  rumours  came 
in,  and  at  midnight  a  friend  telephoned  to  say 
that  the  government  had  fallen,  a  report  that 
was  confirmed  in  the  early  morning,  when  my 
father  also  heard  that  the  entire  garrison  had 
gone  over  to  the  Bolsheviks. 

The  ministers  were  said  to  be  hiding  in  the 
Winter  Palace,  and  my  father  was  told  that  he 
could  not  possibly  see  Monsieur  Tereschenko, 
and  that  our  journey  to  England  was  definitely 
put  off.  A  little  later  we  heard  that  Kerensky 
had  managed  to  escape  in  an  American  motor 
and  was  supposed  to  have  driven  as  far  as  Luga, 
where  he  had  boarded  a  train  and  gone  on  to 
Pskov  to  join  the  troops  that  were  being  collected 
there  for  the  defence  of  the  government.  "Now 
he  has  his  chance,"  everybody  said,  **and  can 
march  triumphantly  into  Petrograd  and  save  the 
revolution." 

All  during  that  day  there  was  a  certain  amount 
of  firing  going  on  in  the  streets,  and  armoured 
cars  and  motor-trolleys  full  of  soldiers  were 
dashing  about,  but  on  the  whole  the  Bolsheviks 
met  with  hardly  any  resistance  at  all,  and  by 


i8o         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

the  time  darkness  fell  the  town  was  more  or 
less  in  their  hands,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Winter  Palace,  which  was  being  guarded  by  some 
of  the  cadets  and  a  company  of  the  Women's 
Battalion. 

A  little  before  nine  I  thought  I  heard  the  sound 
of  firing  in  the  distance,  but  when  I  said  so,  the 
English  officer,  who  was  sitting  in  my  room  at 
that  moment,  answered  that  it  was  only  the  trams 
on  the  bridge.  The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his 
mouth  when  the  sudden  boom  of  a  big  gun  shook 
the  windows,  and  somebody  in  the  street  cried 
out  some  unintelligible  words.  **I  expect  they're 
firing  at  the  Winter  Palace,"  the  English  officer 
said;  "I  had  better  go  and  see."  He  clattered 
out  of  the  room,  and,  left  alone,  I  went  to  the  win- 
dow to  try  to  make  out  what  was  happening  in 
the  darkness  outside.  A  little  group  of  people 
I  could  dimly  make  out  near  the  comer  of  the 
bridge  scattered  hastily  as  the  red  flash  of  one  of 
the  fortress  guns  lit  up  the  river  and  made  the 
darkness  seem  even  more  intense  as  the  thimder 
of  the  report  died  away  into  silence. 

We  heard  presently  that  they  were  attacking 
the  palace  from  all  sides,  and  had  brought  up  two 
or  three  light  cruisers  as  well  that  were  firing  at  it 
from  up  the  river.  By  the  noise  they  were  making 
it  sounded  as  if  nothing  very  much  would  be  left 
of  it,  but  a  good  many  of  the  shots  were  only  gim- 


THE  BOLSHEVIKS  STRIKE        i8i 

cotton,  and  the  firing  in  all  cases  was  so  inaccurate 
that  the  palace  was  only  hit  three  times  from  the 
riverside,  though  on  the  side  of  the  square  the 
whole  building  was  riddled  with  bullet-holes  from 
machine-gims  and  rifles.  A  good  many  shells 
were  supposed  to  have  fallen  in  the  town,  though 
not  much  damage  was  done;  and,  though  the 
ministers  did  not  finally  siurender  till  two  in  the 
morning,  the  actual  bombardment  of  the  palace 
ceased  at  about  eleven. 

The  Women's  Battalion  fought  heroically  till 
the  last,  though  luckily  they  did  not  suffer  any 
very  severe  casualties.  Many  stories  concerning 
the  siege  were  circulated  later  on,  but  where  so 
much  was  tmtrue  it  is  difficult  to  know  what 
really  was  the  truth.  It  was  believed,  however, 
that  there  was  a  Bolshevik  agent  inside  the  palace 
who  gave  out  false  orders  supposed  to  come  from 
the  ministers,  and  finally  opened  the  doors  lead- 
ing into  the  Hermitage,  letting  in  the  crowd  of 
soldiers  and  sailors  who  swept  through  the  gor- 
geous apartments  destroying  everything  as  they 
went. 

The  ministers  had  all  been  sitting  in  one  of  the 
inner  rooms  of  the  palace,  and  one  can  imagine 
what  those  hoiirs  of  waiting  must  have  meant  to 
them  and  what  their  feelings  must  have  been  as 
they  heard  the  rabble  drawing  ever  nearer  through 
the  silence  of  the  empty  rooms. 


1 82  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Arrested  in  no  gentle  way.  they  were  forced  to 
walk  on  foot  to  the  fortress  through  a  jeering 
crowd  who  jostled  and  pushed  and  shrieked  out 
threatening  insults  as  they  passed. 


XXVI 

THE  BOLSHEVIKS  IN  POWER 

On  Thursday,  November  8,  the  fighting  seemed 
to  be  over.  The  ministers  were  prisoners  in  the 
fortress;  the  Bolsheviks,  for  the  moment  at  any 
rate,  were  complete  masters  of  the  situation  and 
the  whole  town  was  in  their  hands. 

The  normal  life  of  the  town  continued  as  if 
nothing  much  had  changed,  though  most  faces 
wore  an  anxious,  himted  expression,  and  soldiers 
and  armed  workmen  filled  all  the  streets.  It  was 
rumoured  that  Lenin  had  made  himself  head  of 
the  new  government,  and  that  Trotzky  was  to  be 
made  commissary  of  the  Foreign  Office.  Very 
often  we  had  half  jestingly  spoken  of  such  a  possi- 
bility, but  now  that  we  were  faced  with  it  as  almost 
a  fact  it  seemed  beyond  belief.  It  could  not  pos- 
sibly last.  Petrograd  itself  might,  perhaps,  be 
forced  to  submit  to  such  a  rule  for  a  short  time, 
but  that  the  whole  of  Russia  shotdd  be  governed 
by  such  men  was  not  credible. 

In  the  afternoon  two  officers,  who  had  been  in- 
structors of  the  Women's  Battalion,  came  to  my 
mother  with  tears  in  their  eyes  to  beg  her  to  exert 

183 


1 84         TftE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

her  influence  and  save  a  hundred  and  seventy  of 
these  women  who  had  been  taken  prisoner  the 
night  before  in  the  Winter  Palace,  and  were  now 
being  kept  in  the  barracks  of  the  Grenadier 
Regiment,  where  they  were  being  brutally  treated 
by  the  soldiers.  General  Knox  at  once  went  to 
the  Smolny,  which  had  become  the  headquarters 
of  the  Bolsheviks,  and  succeeded  after  some  dif- 
ficulty in  extracting  a  promise  that  the  women 
should  be  treated  as  prisoners  of  war  and  have 
a  proper  guard  placed  over  them.  Later  even, 
owing  to  his  intervention,  the  women  were  all 
released  and  allowed  to  rejoin  the  rest  of  the 
battalion  just  outside  the  town. 

On  November  9  Kerensky*s  army  was  at 
Gatchina,  and  late  that  night  there  were  reports 
that  all  the  armoured  cars  had  joined  him  and 
that  fighting  had  begun.  In  Moscow,  meanwhile, 
the  Bolsheviks  were  supposed  to  have  taken  pos- 
session of  the  Kremlin,  which  was  being  besieged 
by  the  cadets  of  the  military  schools,  and  the 
whole  town  was  said  to  be  in  a  state  of  inde- 
scribable confusion,  all  the  streets  barricaded 
and  fighting  in  progress  everyw^here. 

General  Knox  and  Major  Thomhill  were  living 
in  the  embassy  again,  and  people  were  very  ner- 
vous as  to  what  would  happen  should  Kerensky^s 
army  gain  an  entrance,  as  they  feared  that  the 
crowd  might  then  turn  against  the  aristocracy. 


THE  BOLSHEVIKS  IN  POWER     185 

Trotzky  had  ordered  out  all  the  workmen  to  dig 
trenches,  and  two  more  destroyers  had  come  up 
from  Kjronstadt  for  the  defence  of  the  capital,  and 
one  had  anchored  just  below  the  Troitzky  Bridge, 
a  grey,  vicious-looking  shape  on  the  grey  waters, 
with  guns  bristling  in  all  directions. 

Trotzky  had  now  officially  taken  possession  of 
the  Foreign  Office,  but  the  staff  of  the  ministry 
all  refused  to  work  for  him,  and  the  lady  clerks 
employed  there  all  gave  in  their  resignation,  say- 
ing they  did  not  wish  to  be  employed  under  a 
German.  All  the  other  ministers  followed  the 
example  of  the  Foreign  Office  and  the  commis- 
saires  of  the  Bolshevik  government,  arriving  to 
take  up  office,  found  only  empty  rooms  to  receive 
them. 

People  confidently  expected  Kerensky  to  enter 
the  capital  on  Sunday,  November  11,  and  on 
Satiu*day  evening  it  was  believed  that  the  bom- 
bardment of  the  besieging  army  had  already  be- 
gun, people  declaring  that  shells  had  fallen  on  the 
Baltic  station.  On  the  Simday  morning  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety,  composed  of  the 
political  groups  who  had  broken  with  the  Bol- 
sheviks, believing  Kerensky's  troops  to  be  stu*- 
rounding  the  town  and  his  success  and  triumphal 
entry  assured,  encouraged  the  cadets  of  all  the 
military  schools  in  Petrograd  to  take  the  offensive 
against  the  Bolsheviks. 


i86         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Early  on  Sunday  morning,  therefore,  one  of  the 
generals  in  the  Astoria  arrested  the  military 
general  placed  there  by  the  Bolsheviks,  and  the 
cadets  took  possession  of  the  hotel.  In  the  after- 
noon, however,  the  Bolsheviks  brought  up  armed 
forces  against  it,  and  after  some  fierce  fighting  re- 
took it.  Very  much  the  same  thing  happened  at 
the  telegraph  and  telephone  stations  which  were 
taken  by  the  cadets  in  the  morning  and  retaken 
by  the  Bolsheviks  in  the  afternoon,  the  boys  who 
were  heroically  defending  them  being  murdered  in 
the  most  brutal  way. 

At  half  past  five  that  afternoon  the  square  in 
front  of  the  embassy  was  cleared  and  closed  to 
all  the  traffic,  and  several  cannons  were  placed 
on  it,  trained  across  the  Champ  de  Mars  on  to 
the  beautiful  old  Inginemaia  palace,  where  a  good 
many  of  the  cadets  had  taken  refuge.  They  were 
given  twenty  minutes  in  which  to  surrender  and, 
finally  deciding  to  do  so,  were  taken  oQ  to  the 
fortress.  The  Vladimirsky  Military  School  just 
across  the  river  had  held  out  against  a  heavy 
bombardment  from  early  in  the  morning  till 
three  in  the  afternoon,  when  it  finally  had  to  sur- 
render, a  great  many  of  the  cadets  being  killed. 

All  over  the  town  these  boys,  who  had  sacri- 
ficed so  much,  were  being  him  ted  by  the  mob  of 
soldiers  and  workmen,  and  the  sufferings  some  of 
them  had  to  endiure  do  not  bear  thinking  of. 


THE  BOLSHEVIKS  IN  POWER     187 

Many  of  them  were  thrown  from  the  roof  of  the 
telephone  office.  In  one  place  a  few  of  them 
managed  to  get  away  in  an  armoured  car,  which, 
however,  broke  down  and  was  surrotmded  by 
the  crowd,  who  pulled  the  boys  out  and  brutally 
murdered  them.  One  found  refuge  in  a  small 
hotel,  but,  being  discovered,  was  miurdered  in  his 
bed  and  the  whole  building  ruined  and  pillaged. 
An  English  governess  who  worked  with  my  mother 
told  us  several  days  later  how  the  only  son  of  the 
family  she  was  with  had  gone  out  on  that  Sun- 
day afternoon  with  no  other  intention  but  that  of 
taking  a  walk,  and  two  days  later  his  body  was 
foimd  in  a  canal  covered  all  over  with  woimds. 

The  embassy  itself  was  seriously  endangered 
by  the  cadets  who  were  supposed  to  be  there  on 
guard,  and  who,  having  imprudently  shown  them- 
selves at  the  windows,  were  seen  by  the  crowd,  who 
exclaimed:  ''There  are  some  of  them,  let  us  go 
and  kill  them."  On  the  Monday  afternoon, 
therefore,  they  were  all  smuggled  out  of  the  house 
in  disguise  and  all  arrived  safely  at  their  destina- 
tions, though  two  of  the  boys  escaping  from  the 
French  embassy  were  discovered  and  killed  on  the 
way. 

The  hopes  that  Kerensky  would  effect  an  en- 
trance were  dwindling  hour  by  hour.  In  Moscow 
the  fighting  was  still  continuing,  and,  though  there 
had  been  a  time  when  the  troops  of  the  Provisional 


l88  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Government  were  said  to  be  winning,  the  Bolshe- 
viks seemed  now  again  to  be  gaining  the  upper 
hand. 

Cut  off  completely  as  we  were,  news  was  difficult 
to  obtain,  but  there  were  reports  that  there  had 
been  some  heavy  fighting  between  Kerensky  and 
the  Bolsheviks  at  Czarskoe.  Wild  rumours  were 
about  also  that  Komiloff  had  escaped  and  that 
he  and  Savinkoff  were  now  at  the  head  of  the 
troops,  that  Kerensky  had  been  murdered,  that 
Korniloff  and  Kaledin  were  marching  on  the  town 
at  the  head  of  an  enormous  army. 

But  out  of  all  these  conflicting  stories  one  thing 
stood  clear:  Kerensky  had  failed.  Had  he 
marched  straight  on  Petrograd,  success  would 
almost  certainly  have  been  his.  But  having  got 
as  far  as  Czarskoe,  he  hesitated,  stopped  to 
parley  and  argue,  wishing  to  stand  well  with 
both  parties,  feared  to  strike  a  decisive  blow,  and 
so  was  driven  back  at  last  as  far  as  Gatchina. 

On  the  Monday  evening  some  of  the  English 
military  missions  received  a  warning  coming  from 
two  private  sources  that  the  crowd  meant  to  come 
and  attack  the  embassy  that  night.  We  were 
supposed  to  know  nothing  about  it,  but  I  think 
we  all  had  very  shrewd  suspicions  that  something 
unusual  was  the  matter.  Several  English  officers 
were  got  in  as  an  extra  guard,  and  arrangements 
were  made  with  the  English  Military  Club,  in 


THE  BOLSHEVIKS  IN  POWER     189 

the  Millionaia,  to  call  them  up  in  case  of  need. 
The  night,  however,  passed  quite  peacefully, 
something  evidently  having  happened  to  change 
the  intended  programme,  and  the  next  two 
days  also  were  uneventful,  though  on  the  Tues- 
day afternoon  the  traffic  of  the  whole  town  was 
disorganised,  while  all  the  bridges  were  opened 
to  allow  four  destroyers  up  the  river  as  far  as 
Smolny.  Manned  by  a  scalawag  crew  of  in- 
describably dirty  workmen  and  sailors,  they 
steamed  slowly  past,  their  guns  menacingly  trained 
on  the  town,  while  all  along  the  quays  a  crowd 
stood  to  watch  them,  fear,  distrust,  and  suspicion 
in  their  eyes.  Nobody  knew  quite  what  their 
object  was.  Some  said  it  was  to  fire  on  Keren- 
sky's  troops  from  the  rear;  others  affirmed  that 
they  were  to  guard  the  Smolny;  others  again 
said  they  were  going  to  fire  indiscriminately''  into 
the  town  on  the  smallest  hint  of  any  distur- 
bance. 

Order  had  been  more  or  less  restored  in  the 
town  now,  though  a  certain  amount  of  desultory 
shooting  was  in  progress.  A  cadet  walking  along 
the  quay  was  shot  dead  by  two  workmen  who 
happened  to  be  passing  at  the  same  moment,  and 
who  walked  on  imconcemedly  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  And  a  petty  officer  was  also  murdered 
just  in  front  of  the  embassy  on  the  Wednesday 
morning,  the  excuse  being  given  that  he  had  re- 


190  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

fused  to  give  up  his  sword  to  three  or  four  work- 
men of  Trotzky's  Red  Guard  who  demanded  it. 

For  the  first  few  days  of  the  Bolshevik  rule 
food  was  niore  plentiful,  and  several  wagons  full 
of  provisions  intended  for  the  front  were  handed 
out  free  to  the  crowd.  And,  meanwhile,  promises 
were  made  of  bread  and  peace  and  freedom  and 
the  division  of  land. 


XXVII 

THE  MOCKERY  OF  GOVERNMENT 

By  the  end  of  that  week  it  was  finally  clear 
that  Kerensky*s  anny  had  been  beaten.  Once 
more  he  had  let  a  chance  to  save  Russia  slip 
through  his  fingers,  had  played  with  fortune  and 
failed. 

On  November  i6  the  papers  published  a  report 
of  his  last  interview  with  General  Krasnoff,  com- 
mander of  the  troops  of  the  Provisional  Govern- 
ment, an  interview  where  few  words  were  wasted ; 
where  tragedy  and  ruin  and  failure  must  have 
mocked  at  the  man  who  had  held  such  tremendous 
power  and  now  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice. 
At  three  that  afternoon  he  sent  for  General  Kras- 
noff, and  one  can  imagine  the  brusque,  nervous 
manner,  the  white,  lined  face,  the  fierce,  restless 
eyes,  that  scanned  the  soldier's  face  as  he  greeted 
him:  **You  have  betrayed  me,  general.  Are 
you  aware  that  your  Cossacks  have  decided  to 
arrest  me  and  hand  me  over  to  the  sailors  ?'* 

And  very  quietly  the  general  answered  in  the 
affirmative,  adding  with  a  certain  brutal  direct- 
ness: **Not  a  soul  here  is  in  sympathy  with  you." 

**Not  even  the  officers?"  Kerensky  asked. 
191 


192  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

The  general  shrugged  his  shoulders:  **The 
officers  are  even  more  against  you  than  anybody 
else." 

The  man  to  whom  they  were  addressed  must 
have  known  the  truth  of  those  words,  though, 
perhaps,  he  had  tried  to  cheat  himself  into  a  false 
hope  up  till  now.  And  standing  face  to  face  with 
the  ugly  fact  he  could  only  mutter  weakly :  *  'What 
am  I  to  do  then?  There  is  nothing  left  for  me 
but  to  commit  suicide." 

One  can  imagine  the  general's  gesture  of  con- 
tempt; the  swift,  vehement  scorn  of  the  rapped- 
out  advice:  "If  you  act  like  a  man  of  honour 
you  will  leave  immediately  for  Petrograd  imder 
the  protection  of  the  white  flag.  You  will  pre- 
sent yourself  before  the  revolutionary  council  of 
war,  and  you  will  enter  into  negotiations  with 
them  as  head  of  the  Provisional  Government." 

Perhaps  it  was  then  that  the  sudden  plan  for 
his  escape  flashed  through  Kerensky's  mind, 
for  he  acquiesced  with  apparent  submission,  only 
categorically  refusing  the  general's  offer  of  an 
escort  of  sailors.  He  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  sailors.  Was  not  Dybenko  a  sailor?  And 
Dybenko  was  his  bitterest  enemy. 

In  despair  the  general  raised  his  shotdders: 
*'I  can  do  nothing  to  help  you  then.  Once  you 
have  decided  to  play  a  big  game,  you  must  know 
how  to  stand  firm." 


THE  MOCKERY  OF  GOVERNMENT  193 

Seeing  in  the  general's  impatience  his  hope  of . 
escape   dwindling,    Kerensky   exclaimed   swiftly:' 
**Yes — ^yes — I  will  go.     But  I  will  only  leave  at 
night." 

Inexorably  the  general  refused  to  give  his  con- 
sent to  this:  *'And  why  ?  It  will  then  resolve  it- 
self into  a  flight.  Leave  quietly  and  openly  so 
that  all  the  world  may  see  you  are  not  running 
away." 

And  again  Kerensky  submitted,  only  begging 
to  be  given  an  escort  of  trusty  men;  and,  curtly 
promising  to  see  to  it,  the  general  left  him  and 
went  out  to  give  his  orders  for  a  detachment  of 
eight  men  to  be  formed  to  convey  the  former 
commander-in-chief  and  minister-president  of  the 
Russian  republic  in  safety  to  the  Bolshevik  head- 
quarters. 

But  that  Kerensky  had  still  some  friends  ready 
to  risk  everything  for  his  sake  is  proved,  for  barely 
half  an  hour  later  a  Cossack  came  to  inform 
General  Krasnoff  that  he  had  escaped,  and  though 
an  immediate  search  was  made  in  Gatchina  and 
all  the  surroundings,  no  trace  of  him  was  to  be 
found.  Even  the  manner  of  his  flight  remained 
a  mystery,  one  report  stating  that  he  had  escaped 
in  a  motor-car  disguised  as  a  sailor,  and  another 
affirming  that  he  had  got  away  in  an  aeroplane. 

Now  and  then  his  name  cropped  up  again  and 
extraordinary    stories    of    his    adventures    were 


194  T?HE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

told.  He  was  supposed  to  be  hiding  in  Finland. 
He  had  joined  Komiloff  and  Kaledin  in  the  south. 
A  soldier  had  recognised  him  in  a  third-class  rail- 
way-carriage and  he  had  been  killed  by  the 
crowd.  He  had  been  elected  member  of  a  town 
coimcil  somewhere  in  Siberia.  He  was  living 
in  Petrograd  disguised  beyond  recognition 

And  yet  few  people  held  that  this  was  really 
the  end.  For  the  moment  certainly  his  star  had 
set,  but  there  seemed  everywhere  the  odd  belief 
that  he  would  still  achieve  something,  and  even 
those  who  hated  him  shared  in  this  belief. 

It  was  the  end  of  a  chapter  they  said — rather  a 
tragic  end  when  one  looks  back  to  the  beginning 
that  had  been  so  full  of  possibilities.  Having 
held  a  popularity  that  was  almost  unequalled, 
a  name  that  flashed  from  one  end  to  another  of 
a  great  empire,  he  had  become  an  outcast  and  a 
fugitive.  The  crowd  that  had  acclaimed  him 
now  jeered  and  mocked  at  his  name.  The  Cos- 
sacks who  had  fought  for  him  in  July  would 
defend  him  no  longer,  the  officers  would  not  for- 
give him  for  the  part  he  had  taken  against  Komi- 
loff. The  Bolsheviks  hated  him  because  he 
wanted  to  go  on  with  the  war,  his  own  party  held 
him  responsible  for  destroying  the  discipline  of  the 
army. 

Few  people  now  seem  to  remember  that  the 
famous  First  Prikase,  which  was  mainly  responsi- 


THE  MOCKERY  OF  GOVERNMENT  195 

ble  for  disorganising  the  army,  was  issued  by 
the  Soviet  and  not  by  Kerensky,  and  that  each 
regiment  had  its  own  committee,  which  did  not 
allow  anything,  from  the  most  trivial  every-day 
affair  to  an  order  from  the  commander-in-chief 
himself,  to  be  carried  out  without  having  been 
debated  on  and  passed  by  its  members.  Keren- 
sky  himself  made  an  effort  that  was  little  short 
of  heroic  to  keep  the  army  together.  All  through 
the  spring  he  journeyed  from  one  point  on  the 
front  to  another,  inciting  the  soldiers  to  fight  and 
striving  to  keep  up  their  spirit  by  his  fiery  speeches 
and  enthusiasm.  It  was  he  who  led  the  troops 
to  take  the  offensive  in  July,  but  at  the  same 
moment  the  German  agents  organised  the  Bol- 
shevik rising  in  Petrograd  and  spread  the  re- 
port in  the  army  that  the  capital  was  in  the  hands 
of  Lenin  and  his  party,  who  meant  to  complete  a 
separate  peace. 

It  is  certainly  true  that  Kerensky  failed,  but  his 
failure  came  through  his  weakness  at  striking  hard 
at  the  Bolsheviks  and  crushing  them  before  they 
became  too  strong  to  be  crushed.  He  was  a 
patriot  and  an  honest  man,  but  he  was  an  idealist 
who  dreamt  dreams  that  were  too  big  for  him, 
and  that  made  him  hesitate  between  right  and 
wrong  when  a  decisive  action  either  way  might 
have  saved  the  situation. 

No  proper  government  had  as  yet  been  formed 


196         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

in  Petrograd;  the  Bolsheviks  were  quarrelling 
among  themselves  and  seemed  unable  to  come  to 
any  agreement.  To  give  themselves  importance 
they  put  out  an  order  for  the  arrest  of  Monsieur 
Neratoff,  former  assistant  minister  of  foreign 
affairs,  and  Trotzky  declared  in  a  public  speech 
that  the  secret  diplomatic  treaties  had  been 
stolen  and  hidden  in  the  British  embassy,  and 
added,  in  violent  language,  that  they  must  be 
found  at  all  costs. 

The  freedom  of  the  press  had  been  banned, 
but  notwithstanding  this,  articles  appeared  day 
after  day  in  many  of  the  papers  denouncing 
Lenin  and  his  followers,  and  if,  in  punishment 
for  their  audacity,  they  were  closed  by  an  order 
from  Smolny,  they  promptly  appeared  under 
another  name.  There  is,  for  example,  the  story 
of  one  paper  that  began  life  as  The  Day,  was 
closed  by  the  Bolsheviks,  and  appeared  again  as 
The  Evening;  then,  being  closed  again,  as  The 
Night;  a  little  later  as  The  Dark  Nighty  and  still 
a  Httle  later  as  Deepest  Night. 


XXVIII 

NEGOTIATIONS  FOR  PEACE 

General  Doukhonine,  who  had  succeeded 
General  Alexief  as  commander-in-chief,  receiving 
the  telegram  of  the  Bolshevik  government  order- 
ing an  immediate  armistice,  refused  to  carry  out 
the  instructions,  and  was  accordingly  replaced 
by  General  Krylenko,  a  small,  ferret-faced  man, 
who  had  risen  from  the  ranks. 

At  the  same  time  my  father  published  a  note 
in  the  papers  remonstrating  at  the  way  the  order 
for  the  armistice  had  been  carried  out  without 
consulting  the  Allies,  and  had  been  sent  to  head- 
quarters nineteen  hoiu-s  before  it  was  received  at 
the  embassy.  Trotzky  thereupon  published  an 
answering  note,  saying  that  the  order  for  the 
armistice  and  the  note  to  the  Allied  embassies 
informing  them  of  it  had  been  sent  off  at  the 
same  moment,  and  "if  it  was  indeed  true  that  the 
latter  had  not  arrived  at  the  same  time,  this  was 
only  due  to  technical  details  that  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  policy  held  by  the  coimcil  of  the 
commissaries  of  the  people.  The  note  ended  in 
an  assurance  that  the  common  efforts  and  the 

197 


198  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

will  of  the  people  would  carry  out  a  declaration 
of  universal  peace  against  all  imperialistic  govern- 
ments. 

British  subjects  were  now  more  or  less  prisoners 
in  Russia,  Trotzky  declaring  that  not  one  of  them 
should  be  allowed  to  leave  till  Petroff  and  Tchi- 
cherin,  the  two  Russian  pacifists  interned  in 
England,  were  set  free.  He  also  threatened  to 
arrest  any  British  subjects  carrying  on  what  he 
held  a  counter-revolutionary  propaganda,  and 
declared  that,  though  up  till  now  there  had  been 
no  hostile  demonstrations  against  the  embassy, 
he  would  not  be  answerable  for  the  consequences 
if  his  requests  to  release  Petroff  and  Tchicherin 
were  not  immediately  granted. 

Nearly  every  day  threatening  articles  against 
my  father  appeared  in  the  Bolshevik  papers, 
and  he  was  repeatedly  warned  that  he  was  in 
danger  of  being  arrested  at  any  moment.  And 
one  or  two  members  of  the  British  colony  who  were 
at  the  head  of  big  factories  were  subjected  to 
rough  treatment  and  violent  abuse  from  the  work- 
men. 

On  December  i  the  delegates  of  the  Bolshevik 
government  left  for  the  front  to  begin  the  peace 
negotiations,  and  on  December  4  General  Dou- 
khonine  was  brutally  murdered  in  his  railway- 
carriage  as  he  was  leaving  headquarters.  People 
had  hoped  that  the  troops  or  the  Staff  would  prove 


NEGOTIATIONS  FOR  PEACE       199 

loyal  and  would  be  able  to  hold  out  against  the 
Red  Guards  and  troops  sent  down  by  the  Bol- 
sheviks to  take  possession.  But  General  Dou- 
khonine  unfortunately  hesitated  to  take  up  an 
armed  defensive  position  and,  having  miu-dered 
him,  the  Bolshevik  troops  imder  the  command 
of  General  Krylenko  took  the  position  of  the 
Staff,  meeting  with  hardly  any  resistance.  Gen- 
eral Komiloff,  however,  managed  to  escape  with 
fotir  hundred  men  and,  evading  pursuit,  made 
his  way  toward  the  south  to  try  to  join  the  forces 
of  General  Kaledin. 

It  was  said  that  seven  German  staff-officers  had 
arrived  in  Petrograd  and  were  being  received  and 
entertained  by  the  Bolshevik  government  as 
guests  of  honour.  Pamphlets  warning  the  peo- 
ple that  they  were  being  betrayed  were  thrown 
about  the  streets,  but  nobody  had  the  power  to 
do  anything,  and  the  peace  negotiations  con- 
tinued at  the  front,  though  it  was  rumoured  that 
they  were  not  going  well  and  that  the  Bolsheviks 
were  not  finding  it  as  easy  as  they  had  thought. 

On  December  8  my  father  made  the  following 
statement  in  an  interview  which  he  gave  to  some 
twenty  representatives  of  the  press: 

"Judging  by  recent  practice,  secret  diplomacy 
will  soon  be  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  diploma- 
tists must,  therefore,  more  than  ever,  have  re- 
course to  the  press  as  a  channel  of  communica- 


200         ThLE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

tion  with  the  people.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I 
welcome  your  visit  in  order  that  through  your 
kind  offices  I  may  appeal  to  the  Russian  democ- 
racy against  those  who  wilfully  misrepresent  the 
policy  of  my  government.  What,  you  ask  me, 
is  our  attitude  toward  Russia,  and  how  do  we 
view  the  negotiations  for  an  armistice  that  have 
been  opened  on  the  Russian  front  ?  As  regards  the 
first  of  these  questions,  I  can  assure  you  that  our 
attitude  is  one  of  sympathy  for  the  Russian  peo- 
ple, worn  out  as  they  are  by  their  heavy  sacrifices 
in  this  war  and  by  the  general  disorganisation 
that  is  the  inevitable  consequence  of  any  great 
upheaval  like  that  of  your  revolution.  We  bear 
them  no  grudge,  nor  is  there  a  word  of  truth  in 
the  reports  that  have  been  circulated  to  the  effect 
that  we  are  contemplating  any  coercional  punitive 
measures  in  the  event  of  their  making  a  separate 
peace.  With  regard  to  the  second  question,  the 
coimcil  of  the  people's  commissaries,  in  opening 
negotiations  with  the  enemy  without  previous 
consultation  with  the  Allies,  committed  a  breach 
of  the  agreement  of  August  2 3 -September  5,  19 14, 
of  which  we  had  a  right  to  complain.  We  cannot 
for  a  moment  admit  the  validity  of  their  conten- 
tion that  a  treaty,  concluded  with  an  autocratic 
government,  can  have  no  binding  force  on  the 
democracy  by  which  that  government  has  been 
replaced,  as  such  a  principle,  if  once  adopted, 


NEGOTIATIONS  FOR  PEACE      201 

would  undermine  the  stability  of  all  international 
agreements.  But,  while  we  repudiate  this  new 
doctrine,  we  do  not  desire  to  induce  an  unwilling 
ally  to  continue  to  contribute  her  share  to  the 
common  effort  by  an  appeal  to  our  treaty  rights. 
There  are  still  higher  principles  to  which  we 
might,  if  we  so  desired  it,  appeal — principles, 
moreover,  that  are  fully  recognised  by  the  council 
of  the  people's  commissaries.  They  are  those 
of  a  democratic  peace,  of  a  peace  that  accords 
with  the  wishes  of  the  smaller  nationalities,  that 
repudiates  the  idea  of  extracting  plunder  out  of 
conquered  enemies  under  the  name  of  war  in- 
demnities, or  of  incorporating  in  great  empires 
the  territories  of  reluctant  populations.  Such, 
broadly  speaking,  is  the  peace  which  my  govern- 
ment equally  with  the  Russian  democracy  wishes 
to  see  secured  to  the  world.  The  coimcil  of  the 
people's  commissaries  is  mistaken,  however,  in 
thinking  that  they  can  secure  this  peace  by  ask- 
ing for  an  immediate  armistice  to  be  followed  by 
an  agreement.  They  are,  if  I  may  use  a  homely 
expression,  putting  the  cart  before  the  horse. 
The  Allies,  on  the  contrary,  desire  to  arrive  first 
at  a  general  agreement  in  harmony  with  their 
declared  aims,  and  then  to  seciire  an  armistice. 
So  far  not  a  word  has  been  said  by  any  German 
statesman  to  show  that  the  ideals  of  Russian 
democracy  are  shared  by  the  German  Emperor  or 


202         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

his  government,  and  it  is  with  the  German  au- 
tocracy, and  not  with  the  German  people,  that 
negotiations  for  an  armistice  are  being  conducted. 
Is  it  Hkely  that  the  Emperor  William,  when  once 
he  knows  that  the  Russian  army  has  ceased  to 
exist  as  a  fighting  force,  will  be  disposed  to  sub- 
scribe to  a  democratic  and  durable  peace  such  as 
the  Russian  people  desire  ?  No;  the  peace  which 
he  contemplates  is  a  German  imperiaHstic  one. 
Though  the  Allies  cannot  send  representatives  to 
take  part  in  the  armistice  negotiations,  they  are 
ready,  so  soon  as  a  stable  government  has  been 
instituted  that  is  recognised  by  the  Russian  peo- 
ple as  a  whole,  to  examine  with  that  government 
the  aims  of  the  war  and  the  possible  conditions 
of  a  just  and  durable  peace.  Meanwhile  they 
are  rendering  Russia  the  most  effective  assistance 
by  holding  up  the  bulk  of  the  German  armies 
on  their  respective  fronts.  The  important  vic- 
tories of  the  British  troops  near  Cambrai  are  of 
good  augury  for  the  future,  for  this  democratic 
peace  which  we  all  so  ardently  desire  will  never 
be  attained  till  the  military  power  of  the  Kaiser 
has  been  broken. 

**  I  have,  I  hope,  shown  how  friendly  are  our 
feelings  and  how  sincerely  we  desire  to  stand  by 
Russia  in  this  hour  of  crisis.  Can,  I  venture  to 
ask,  the  same  be  said  of  Russia's  feelings  toward 
us?    Is  it  not  a  fact  that  hardly  a  day  passes 


NEGOTIATIONS  FOR  PEACE      203 

without  some  bitter  attack  being  made  on  my 
country  by  what  are  now  the  official  organs  of 
the  press?  To  read  them  one  would  think  that 
Great  Britain,  and  not  Germany,  was  the  enemy, 
that  Great  Britain  provoked  the  war  for  her  own 
imperialistic  and  capitalist  aims,  and  that  she  is 
responsible  for  all  the  blood  that  is  being  shed. 
I  am  not  going  to  repeat  the  oft-told  tale  of  the 
beginning  of  the  war;  I  should  only  like  to  ask 
what  would  be  Russia's  position  to-day  had  we 
not  intervened  when  Belgium's  neutrality  was 
violated  by  Germany  ?  Without  the  British  fleet 
and  our  newly  formed  armies  in  which  three  mil- 
lion volunteers  had  enlisted,  Russia  would  to- 
day be  Germany's  vassal,  and  autocracy  would 
reign  supreme  in  Europe.  Had  we  stood  aside 
there  would  have  been  no  revolution  and  no  liberty 
for  the  people.  The  German  army  would  have 
seen  to  that,  and  without  our  co-operation  Rus- 
sia would  never  have  won  her  freedom.  Are 
we  not,  therefore,  entitled  to  claim  that  we  should 
be  treated  as  friends  instead  of  being  made  the 
object  of  scurrilous  attacks?  In  his  appeal  to 
the  Moslems  of  the  East,  Monsieur  Lenin  spoke 
of  us  as  rapacious  extortioners  and  plimderers, 
while  he  incites  our  Indian  subjects  to  rebellion. 
He  placed  us  on  a  somewhat  lower  level  than  the 
Turks,  to  whom  he  would  hand  over  Armenia, 
forgetting    the    awful    massacres    already    per- 


204         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

petrated  there.  It  is  an  unheard-of  thing  for  a 
man  who  claims  to  direct  Russian  poHcy  to  use 
such  language  of  a  friendly  and  Allied  country. 
How  does  he  think  that  the  British  tyrant  en- 
forced his  will  in  India  with  three  hundred  million 
inhabitants  ?  Is  he  aware  that  the  British  garri- 
son which  before  the  war  amoimted  to  seventy- 
five  thousand  men  has  now  been  reduced  to 
fifteen  thousand,  owing  to  the  loyal  support  of 
the  native  races?  Is  he  aware  that  one  of  our 
chief  aims  is  to  prepare  the  diverse  and  often 
hostile  races  for  self-government,  and  that  our 
own  government  encourages  the  formation  of 
Indian  societies  and  committees  for  this  very 
purpose?  Hardly  any  of  them  are  anti-British, 
and  none  approach  the  Soviet  in  character. 

"The  position  of  EngHshmen  in  this  country 
is  not  an  enviable  one  at  the  present  moment. 
They  are  singled  out  for  attacks  and  regarded 
with  suspicion.  During  the  seven  years  that  I 
have  been  ambassador  here  I  have  worked  heart 
and  soul  to  bring  about  the  closest  understanding 
between  Russia  and  Great  Britain,  but  though  I 
have  associated,  as  it  is  my  duty,  with  members 
of  all  parties,  I  have  ever  since  the  February 
revolution  maintained  a  strictly  neutral  attitude. 
Prior  to  that  date  I  did,  it  is  true,  endeavoiu*  to 
use  my  influence  with  the  Emperor  in  favoiu*  of 
some  form  of  constitutional  government,  and  I 


NEGOTIATIONS  FOR  PEACE       205 

repeatedly  urged  him  to  make  concessions  to  the 
legitimate  wishes  of  the  people.  Now  that  his 
sovereign  rights  are  vested  in  the  Russian  people, 
the  latter  will,  I  trust,  pardon  my  transgression  of 
the  strict  rules  of  diplomatic  etiquette.  I  would, 
in  conclusion,  venture  to  address  one  word  of 
warning  to  the  Russian  democracy.  Their  leaders 
are,  I  know,  animated  by  the  desire  of  creating 
a  brotherhood  of  the  proletariats  of  the  world  in 
order  to  secure  universal  peace.  I  fully  sym- 
pathise with  the  object  they  have  in  view,  but 
I  would  ask  them  to  consider  whether  their  present 
methods  are  likely  to  appeal  to  the  democracies 
of  other  countries,  and  more  especially  to  my  own. 
They  are  creating,  perhaps  unintentionally,  the 
impression  that  they  set  more  store  by  the  German 
than  by  the  British  proletariat.  Their  attitude 
toward  us  is  more  calculated  to  estrange  than  to 
attract  the  sympathies  of  the  British  working 
classes.  During  the  great  war  that  followed  the 
French  Revolution  the  speeches  delivered  against 
Great  Britain  and  the  attempts  made  to  provoke 
a  revolution  in  our  country  did  but  steel  the 
resolve  of  the  British  people  to  fight  out  the  war 
to  the  end  and  rallied  them  round  the  govern- 
ment of  the  day.  History  will,  if  I  mistake  not, 
repeat  itself  in  this  twentieth  century." 


XXIX 

RULE  OF  THE  RED  GUARD 

And  what  of  Petrograd,  the  capital,  during  these 
days?  Winter  had  set  in  now.  The  white, 
pure  silence  of  the  snow  covered  everything,  the 
flag  on  the  fortress  flew,  a  brilliant  patch  of  scarlet 
against  a  steel-cold  sky. 

Nobody  troubled  to  clear  away  the  snow  in 
the  streets.  Little  boys  used  the  slopes  of  the 
bridges  over  the  canals  as  toboggan-slides,  can- 
noning carelessly  against  people,  utterly  unheed- 
ful  whether  they  knocked  them  down  or  not. 
Others  again  used  the  pavements  as  skating- 
rinks,  and  walking  in  the  streets  became  a  thing 
fraught  with  many  dangers,  ridiculous  and  other- 
wise. 

Nearly  all  the  trams  had  broken  down  and 
nobody  troubled  to  mend  them.  Those  that 
remained  resembled  moving  beehives  with  crowds 
of  people  hanging  on  all  round.  One  had  to 
fight  to  get  even  so  much  as  a  foothold  on  a  step, 
and,  once  having  got  in,  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  get  out  again,  so  tightly  wedged  was  the  crowd 
at  the  doors.     Pickpockets  and  thieves  swarmed 

206 


RULE  OF  THE  RED  GUARD       207 

in  them,  and  as  there  was  no  police  one  had  no 
hope  of  retribution  if  one  did  have  anything  stolen. 

Coal  was  so  scarce  that  the  supply  of  electric 
light  had  to  be  cut  off.  On  certain  days  one  was 
only  allowed  it  from  six  to  eleven  in  the  evenings 
and  as  one  never  knew  which  day  that  was  to  be, 
one  ran  the  risk  at  dinner-parties  of  finding  one- 
self in  sudden  darkness  and  having  a  general 
scramble  for  candles.  And  candles  were  also 
scarce  and  not  always  to  be  foimd. 

Nearly  every  night  shooting  went  on  in  the 
town.  Nobody  quite  knew  why.  Sometimes 
it  was  just  a  band  of  robbers  going  round,  stop- 
ping people  in  the  streets  or  pillaging  flats.  Or, 
perhaps,  the  Red  Guards  had  a  difference  of 
opinion.  Or  else  a  motor  with  no  lights  would 
fly  through  the  streets  with  a  machine-gun 
rattling  away  out  of  the  back  window,  for  no 
particular  reason  or  object. 

Committees  were  started  in  all  the  apartment- 
houses.  All  the  inhabitants  of  flats,  even  the 
women,  had  to  take  their  turn  of  keeping  watch 
during  three  hours  of  the  night,  either  in  the 
courtyard  or  else  just  inside  the  hall.  Day  after 
day  more  shops  were  closing,  either  through  lack 
of  material  or  strike  of  the  shop-hands.  Food 
that,  for  a  short  period  after  the  Bolsheviks  had 
gained  power,  had  been  a  little  more  plentiful, 
was  now  scarcer  than  ever.    The  bread  was  prac- 


2o8  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

tically  uneatable.  The  allowance  for  the  week 
was  one  eggy  which  was  generally  bad.  Butter 
was  almost  unprocurable.  Leather  was  so  scarce 
that  to  get  a  pair  of  boots  one  had  to  have  a  ticket, 
and  it  was  said  that  there  was  just  one  pair  of 
boots  for  every  fifty  people. 

One  wondered  sometimes,  Was  this  to  be  the 
end?  The  great  red  palace  riddled  by  bullets. 
The  silent,  empty  government  buildings.  The 
yellow-and-white  admiralty  with  the  golden  spire 
that  seemed  nearly  always  to  catch  from  some- 
where a  faint  gleam  of  simshine.  And  across 
the  white  expanse  of  the  snow-covered  square, 
behind  the  pearl-like  tracery  of  the  trees  in  the 
Alexander  Garden,  the  great,  grey  shadow  of 
the  dome  of  St.  Isaac's  softened  and  dim  in  the 
opal-coloured  mist.  And  over  the  frozen  river 
the  walls  of  the  fortress,  the  cathedral  with  the 
golden  tombs  of  dead  Emperors,  the  spire  that 
was  like  a  marvellous  tongue  of  flame,  a  finger 
pointing  to  heaven.  What  was  to  happen  to 
all  these?  The  old  majesty,  the  old  traditions 
of  centuries,  the  faith  that  believed  in  miracles — 
were  they  gone  for  ever?  The  churches  were 
almost  empty  now,  only  here  and  there  in  the 
grey  shadows  a  solitary  candle  burned  before 
a  jewelled  ikon,  or  a  woman  knelt  and  wept  be- 
fore a  crucifix.     The  old  Russia  was  dead  indeed. 

I  remember  walking  home  from  a  dinner  one 


RULE  OF  THE  RED  GUARD       209 

evening  and  passing  close  to  a  barracks  where  a 
crowd  of  soldiers  stood  leaning  up  against  the 
wall.  From  an  open  window  a  stream  of  yellow 
light  blazed  across  the  snow-covered  pavement, 
and  out  into  the  silence  of  the  cold,  clear  night 
came  the  sound  of  drunken  song  and  laughter, 
the  squeak  of  a  concertina.  Walking  down  the 
street  toward  us  came  an  old  general,  his  long 
beard  and  his  white  fiu*  cap  gleaming  silver  in  the 
moonlight,  the  scarlet  lining  of  his  grey  coat 
catching  the  light  as  he  passed  that  open  window, 
and  not  a  single  one  of  those  soldiers  leaning 
against  the  doorway  moved  out  of  his  way  or 
saluted;  one  only  spat  derisively  on  the  pavement 
with  a  muttered  curse.  His  stem  old  face  was 
like  a  white  mask  of  suffering,  and  when  the  Eng- 
lish officer  I  was  with  saluted  him  as  he  passed 
close  to  us,  he  started  as  if  wakened  from  a  dream, 
and  returned  the  salute  with  a  smile  that  was 
pitiful  in  its  pleased  surprise. 

That  is  the  spirit  of  progress  and  change,  the 
spirit  of  liberty.  Everywhere  signs  of  disorder 
and  dirt  and  neglect.  Streets  that  were  almost 
empty,  shops  that  had  no  goods,  churches  where 
nobody  prayed. 

And  at  street  comers  companies  of  Red  Guards 
sitting  round  huge,  blazing  fires,  stopping  every 
motor  that  passed  to  ask  questions,  and  some- 
times tiuning  the  occupants  out  if  the  answers 


2IO         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

did  not  satisfy  them.  Ready  at  any  moment 
on  the  slightest  excuse  to  fire  off  the  rifles  that 
were  tied  round  them  with  a  piece  of  string  or  a 
dirty  piece  of  red  ribbon.  These  men,  unkempt, 
unwashed,  unshaved,  totally  ignorant,  had  be- 
come the  rulers  of  Petrograd,  the  city  built  by 
Peter  the  Great  as  the  capital  for  his  empire. 

At  night  it  was  always  a  somewhat  eerie  sen- 
sation to  be  stopped  by  these  men.  The  red 
glare  of  the  fire  lighting  up  the  blue  darkness, 
the  silence  of  the  snow-covered  streets  broken  by 
the  hoarse,  rough  voice  that  commanded  the 
motor  to  stop.  The  crowd  of  dirty,  unkempt 
men  swarming  roimd  the  door,  the  points  of  the 
bayonets  that  caught  here  and  there  a  gleam  of 
firelight,  the  knowledge  that  at  the  slightest  ex- 
cuse they  had  the  power  to  turn  one  ignominiously 
out  into  the  street  and  go  off  themselves  in  the 
motor. 

Indeed  this  very  nearly  happened  to  some 
friends  and  myself  when,  one  evening  coming  home 
from  the  ballet,  a  shot  rang  out  just  in  front  of 
the  motor.  We  did  not  realise  at  first  that  it 
had  been  fired  at  us,  but  when  the  motor  pulled 
up  with  a  jerk  and  a  man  in  a  dirty  fur  cap, 
who  might  have  been  a  Red  Guard  or  an  ordinary 
thief,  tore  open  the  door,  we  saw  that  this  time 
we  were  not  to  be  merely  spectators.  How  little 
help  we  could  expect  from  anybody  was  also 


RULE  OF  THE  RED  GUARD      211 

immediately  clear,  as  people  passing  glanced  at 
us  nervously  and  then,  looking  the  other  way, 
hurried  on,  while  a  sledge  that  had  been  standing 
close  to  the  pavement  drove  hastily  away  into 
the  darkness.  Three  more  men  with  rifles  now 
surrounded  the  motor,  and,  pointing  his  pistol 
at  us,  the  man  who  had  stopped  us  commanded 
us  to  get  out  at  once.  Mr.  Brooks,  one  of  the 
secretaries  of  the  embassy,  who  was  with  us,  told 
him  it  was  an  English  motor  and  tried  to  shut 
the  door.  But  tearing  it  open  again,  the  man 
got  up  on  the  step  and,  pointing  his  pistol  at  Mr. 
Brooks's  head,  screamed  out  that  we  were  to  let 
him  have  the  motor  at  once  or  he  would  shoot. 
With  admirable  presence  of  mind,  Mr.  Brooks 
argued  with  him  that  he  would  get  into  great 
trouble  if  he  took  the  motor  as  it  belonged  to  the 
British  embassy,  and  we  were  on  government 
business.  The  man  retorted  ftuiously  that  he 
also  was  on  government  business,  but  after  a  few 
minutes*  more  persuasion  and  talk  he  finally  got 
off  the  step  and,  shutting  the  door  with  a  bang, 
allowed  us  to  continue  on  oiir  way  unmolested. 


XXX 

ANARCHY 

Disorders  and  desultory  street-fighting  in- 
creased day  by  day,  and  on  the  night  of  December 
7  reached  a  culminating  point,  when  a  band  of 
soldiers  and  sailors  broke  into  the  Winter  Palace 
and  pillaged  the  wine-cellars.  The  Preobrajinsky 
regiment,  whose  barracks  were  next  door  and  who 
were  supposed  to  be  on  guard,  tried  at  first  to  put 
up  a  feeble  resistance,  but  very  soon  joined  in  the 
general  plunder  themselves.  All  during  the  night 
the  orgy  continued,  and  several  encoimters  took 
place  between  drunken  bands  of  soldiers  and  sail- 
ors, and  from  the  embassy  we  heard  the  constant 
soimd  of  firing  all  down  the  quay  and  the  MiUio- 
naia. 

Early  the  next  morning,  the  news  having  rapidly 
spread  through  the  town,  crowds  arrived  on  the 
scene  to  try  and  get  a  little  booty.  Soldiers  in 
huge  motor-lorries  drove  up  to  the  palace  and 
went  away,  their  motors  full  of  cases  of  priceless 
wine.  Women,  their  arms  full  of  bottles,  could 
be  seen  trying  to  sell  them  to  passers-by  in  the 
streets.     Even  the  children  had  their  share  of 

212 


ANARCHY  213 

the  plunder,  and  could  be  met  carrying  a  bottle 
of  champagne  or,  perhaps,  some  valuable  old 
liqueur. 

About  midday  an  armed  force  of  sailors  and 
one  or  two  armoured  cars  arrived  on  the  scene 
to  try  and  restore  order.  The  palace  was  sur- 
rounded and  nobody  was  allowed  to  pass  any- 
where near. 

Thousands  of  bottles  of  wine  were  destroyed 
and  thrown  over  into  the  ice,  the  sailors  firing 
into  the  bottles  the  quicker  to  break  them;  but 
the  horde  of  drunken  soldiers  was  so  immense  that 
the  orgy  still  continued  without  any  abatement 
and  order  only  began  to  be  restored  on  the  arrival 
of  a  company  of  firemen,  who  flooded  the  cellars 
and  drowned  a  lot  of  soldiers  who  were  too  dnmk 
to  escape. 

Even  as  far  down  the  quay  as  the  embassy  the 
air  was  infected  with  the  reek  of  spirits,  and  every- 
where drunken  soldiers  lay  about,  broken  bottles 
littered  the  streets,  the  snow  was  stained  rose  red 
and  yellow  where  in  many  places  the  wine  had 
been  spilt.  All  through  the  town  the  drunken 
hordes  spread  themselves,  firing  indiscriminately 
at  each  other  or  anybody  who  molested  them. 
Scenes  of  indescribable  horror  and  disgust  took 
place,  the  crowds  in  some  instances  scooping  up 
the  dirty,  wine-stained  snow,  drinking  it  out  of 
their  hands,  fighting  with  each  other  over  the 


214  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

remains.  And  everywhere  the  soldiers  were  in- 
citing the  people  to  murder  and  pillage.  It  was 
so  easy — you  had  only  to  take  your  rifle — and 
everybody  had  a  firearm  of  some  sort — to  knock 
down  a  few  shutters  or  break  a  few  windows  and 
take  whatever  you  found. 

In  the  afternoon  I  drove  out  with  a  friend  in 
one  of  the  little  low  sledges  and  tried  to  do  some 
shopping.  Heavy  snowflakes  drifted  down  from 
an  iron-grey  sky,  a  piercing  wind  drove  into  our 
faces,  the  great  dome  of  St.  Isaac's  loomed  up,  a 
huge  shadow  lost  in  the  whirling  snow.  Several 
times  drunken  soldiers  hailed  us  as  we  passed. 
On  the  little  bridge  at  the  end  of  the  Millionaia 
a  company  of  armed  sailors  stopped  us  and  made 
us  go  down  a  side  street  into  the  town.  The 
streets  were  practically  deserted,  several  of  the 
shops  were  boarded  up,  now  and  then  the  sharp 
crack  of  a  rifle  sounded  across  the  distance,  or 
the  fragment  of  a  drtmken  song. 

At  the  door  of  one  of  the  provision-shops  a 
huge,  burly  moujik,  wrapped  in  a  sheepskin, 
stopped  us  with  an  outstretched  arm  as  we  tried 
to  pass  him.     "Shut,"  he  said  laconically. 

*'But  why  is  it  shut?"  my  friend  asked  im- 
patiently, seeing  a  chink  of  light  imder  the  closed 
doors. 

The  man  shrugged  his  huge  shoulders.  *' Be- 
cause it  is,"  he  answered,  standing  immovable 


ANARCHY  215 

in  the  doorway  where  we  had  eventually  to  leave 
him. 

The  red-bearded  driver  of  our  sledge  grinned 
at  us  good-humouredly  as  we  climbed  back,  and 
pulled  the  fiu:  rug  over  us:  **Eh,  barinia,"  he 
remarked  pleasantly.  "Life  is  not  easy  now. 
Svaboda!  [Liberty.]  This  is  what  they  call 
liberty!  Eh— God  help  us!"  He  flicked  the 
blue  reins  at  his  thin,  white  horse,  and  drove  on, 
muttering  to  himself  all  the  time. 

A  little  farther  along  a  drunken  soldier  stood 
before  one  of  the  huge  fires  that  binned  at  the 
comers  of  all  the  streets,  a  broken  bottle  held  in 
one  hand,  a  pistol  in  the  other,  while  a  Red  Guard 
leaning  on  his  gun  watched  him  with  an  indulgent 
smile.  Singing  and  laughing,  the  soldier  swayed 
perilously  near  to  the  leaping  flames,  now  and 
then  pointing  his  pistol  at  the  passers-by,  cursing 
them  or  laughing  at  them  as  they  drew  nervously 
away.  Still  a  little  farther  along  another  soldier 
lay  face  down  in  the  snow,  an  empty  bottle  still 
clutched  in  one  hand,  while  two  little  boys  stood 
nervously  at  a  distance,  and  a  third,  more  coura- 
geous, tried  to  loosen  the  fast-clasped  fingers 
from  the  bottle,  to  see,  perhaps,  whether  there 
were  a  few  drops  left.  As  Lunarcharsky,  one 
of  the  commissaries  of  the  people,  said  when 
questioned  by  a  reporter:  **What  would  you 
have  ?    The  whole  of  Petrograd  is  drunk." 


2i6  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

And  that  was  only  the  beginning.  Having 
found  how  easy  it  was,  the  soldiers  continued  to 
plunder  the  wine-shops  and  many  of  the  private 
cellars  in  the  town.  Every  night  there  was 
shooting,  and  in  some  parts  regular  artillery 
duels  between  machine-gtms  took  place,  and 
though  several  large  wine-ceUars  were  destroyed 
by  order  of  the  Bolshevik  government,  the  streets 
continued  to  be  full  of  drunken  soldiers  and  the 
orgies  still  went  on. 

Late  one  evening  some  friends  who  lived  a  little 
farther  down  the  quay  came  to  seek  refuge  in 
the  embassy,  as  their  cellars  were  being  pillaged 
and  the  soldiers  had  fired  into  the  room  where 
they  had  been  sitting  at  dinner.  They  tele- 
phoned from  the  embassy  to  Smolny  to  ask  for 
armed  assistance,  which  was  accordingly  sent, 
and  some  time  after  midnight  they  were  able  to 
retuim  to  their  house,  which  had  been  put  under 
a  strong  guard. 

All  approaches  to  the  Winter  Palace  were  still 
barricaded  and  nobody  was  allowed  to  pass. 
Bottles  of  wine  were  sometimes  to  be  bought  in 
the  streets  for  absurdly  cheap  prices,  though  one 
was  not  always  sure  of  obtaining  the  real  article. 
There  is  the  story  of  one  man  who  bought  what 
was  supposed  to  be  a  bottle  of  champagne  from 
a  sailor  for  the  sum  of  three  roubles.  Examining 
it  closer,  he  found  it  contained  only  vichy  water 


ANARCHY  217 

0  Putting  it  in  his  pocket,  he  continued  on  his  way 
down  the  street  and  presently,  when  a  soldier 
passed  him,  tapped  it  knowingly.  The  soldier 
immediately  stopped  to  bargain  and  the  man, 
succeeding  in  selling  him  the  supposed  bottle  of 
champagne  for  the  sum  of  five  roubles,  continued 
on  his  way. 

Robbery  and  murder  had  become  daily  and 
nightly  occurrences  now.  Constantly  people  were 
being  stopped  and  divested  of  all  their  clothes 
and  valuables  before  they  were  allowed  to  con- 
tinue. It  was  almost  quite  impossible  to  go  out 
at  night  in  a  motor,  as  one  ran  the  almost  certain 
risk  of  being  stopped  and  turned  out.  Some- 
times, looking  out  of  the  window  late  at  night, 
one  might  have  imagined  oneself  in  a  city  of  the 
dead.  The  huge,  empty  square,  white  and  ghastly 
under  the  light  of  one  feeble  lamp,  the  vast  shadow 
of  the  bridge  across  the  frozen  river,  by  the  comer 
of  the  marble  palace  the  orange  glow  of  the  fire, 
where  the  forms  of  two  or  three  soldiers  could  be 
seen  crouching  close  to  the  flames.  Now  and  then 
only  the  grey  shadow  of  a  sledge  slipping  silently 
across  the  snow,  or  a  muffled  figure  that  passed 
swiftly  as  if  it  feared  pursuit. 

A  story  was  told  at  this  time  of  a  man  who  was 
stopped  by  a  band  of  thieves  and  robbed  of  his 
watch  and  money  and  his  coat.  Shivering,  he  said 
to  one  of  the  robbers:   **You  might  at  least  give 


2i8  fHE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

me  your  coat  in  exchange.  Mine  was  new  and 
yours  is  old,  and  you  can't  want  both  coats.** 
After  some  hesitation  the  thief  eventually  gave 
him  his  dirty  old  sheepskin  coat  and  the  man 
hurried  home,  thankful  of  at  least  some  covering 
in  the  cold.  Arrived  at  his  lodgings,  he  took  off 
the  coat  and  found  in  the  pocket  what  was  evi- 
dently the  result  of  the  robber's  day:  three  or 
four  diamond  rings  and  a  sum  of  money  far  ex- 
ceeding that  of  which  he  had  been  robbed  himself. 


XXXI 

LAST  DAYS  IN  PETROGRAD 

On  December  15  Trotzky  sent  round  another 
note  to  all  the  embassies  annotmcing  his  inten- 
tion of  entering  into  peace  negotiations,  not 
with  the  Allied  governments,  but  with  the  social- 
istic parties  in  all  coimtries;  and  meanwhile,  the 
farce  of  the  peace  conference  continued  fluctuat- 
ing, suspended,  taken  up  again. 

The  Russian  frontier  had  again  been  closed  to 
English  and  American  subjects,  on  the  ground 
of  a  dispute  concerning  government  messengers. 
The  posts  were  completely  disorganised  and  hardly 
any  news  came  through,  and  what  there  was  in 
the  papers  was  distorted  to  suit  the  Bolshevik  in- 
terests. But  on  Christmas  Day  a  messenger  ar- 
rived from  England,  having  just  got  across  the 
frontier  before  Trotzky's  order  to  stop  him  had 
been  received. 

Food-supplies  were  getting  scarcer  and  scarcer. 
All  communications  with  the  south  had  been 
completely  cut  off.  The  Don  country  was  said 
to  be  mobilised,  and  thousands  of  ofiicers  and 
cadets  were  joining  the  forces  of  General  Kaledin 
and   at   Rostoff   the   Bolshevik   committee   was 

219 


220         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

supposed  to  have  liberated  and  armed  a  lot  of 
German  prisoners  to  take  part  in  the  struggle 
against  him  and  Komiloff . 

The  German  papers  had  taken  up  a  violent 
attitude  in  regard  to  my  father's  statement  in 
the  Russian  press,  and  said  that  the  Entente  only 
wished  to  gain  time  and  prepare  the  ground  for 
a  counter-revolution,  and  that  my  father's  in- 
sinuation that  the  armistice  negotiations  were 
being  conducted  with  the  German  autocracy  and 
not  with  the  German  people  would  fool  nobody  in 
Russia.  Admiral  Kaiserling  and  his  staff  had 
arrived  in  Petrograd,  a  whole  hotel  was  placed 
at  their  disposal  and  they  were  treated  with  every 
consideration  and  respect.  The  town  itself 
swarmed  with  German  and  Austrian  prisoners, 
walking  freely  and  unmolested  about  the  streets, 
swaggering  as  if  they  were  already  in  possession. 
There  is  a  story  of  a  Russian  girl  who,  meeting 
several  of  these  men,  turned  to  a  friend  who  was 
with  her  and  said:  "Look.  There  are  a  lot  of 
German  prisoners."  One  of  the  men  turned  to 
her  with  an  insolent  smile.  **0h,  no,"  he  said 
suavely,  "you  make  a  mistake.  It  is  you  who 
are  our  prisoners." 

And  meanwhile  anarchy  spread  itself  all  over 
the  country.  In  the  surroundings  of  Petrograd 
and  in  the  Baltic  Provinces  hardly  a  country 
house  was  left  standing.     My  friend's  place  near 


LAST  DAYS  IN  PETROGRAD      221 

Reval,  where  I  had  stayed  several  times,  had 
been  completely  destroyed  and  pillaged,  the 
horses  and  cows  on  the  farm  taken  or  killed,  the 
pigs  cut  up  alive  for  lard,  while  she  herself  barely 
escaped,  having  to  hide  for  five  hours  in  the 
gardens  with  her  two  small  children.  In  Odessa 
street-fighting  was  taking  place,  and  the  mas- 
sacres of  Kronstadt  were  being  repeated  in  the 
Black  Sea  Fleet.  In  the  Crimea  several  of  the 
wonderful  old  palaces  and  private  villas  were 
being  plimdered.  In  Kieff  there  were  riots  and 
disorders.  In  Finland  officers  and  generals  were 
brutally  murdered.  Many  of  the  treasures  of 
the  Hermitage  and  the  Winter  Palace  had  been 
lost  or  stolen.  Some  of  the  barges  in  which  they 
had  been  sent  away  from  Petrograd  just  before 
the  Bolshevik  rising  were  said  to  have  been  sunk, 
some  were  supposed  to  have  arrived  at  Moscow, 
others  at  Vologda,  but  nobody  really  knew  or 
cared.  Pillaging,  murdering,  and  talking  about 
peace  were  so  much  more  important  than  the  fate 
of  a  few  Rembrandts  and  Fragonards. 

My  father  had  been  very  imwell  for  some 
time  past  and  the  end  of  December  the  doctor 
emphatically  ordered  him  to  go  away  at  once. 
An  agreement  had  been  finally  come  to  between 
the  British  and  the  Bolshevik  governments  re- 
garding the  question  of  couriers,  and  the  mes- 
sengers of  the  Bolsheviks  were  to  be  given  pass- 


222         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

ports  to  England  on  the  condition  that  they  did 
not  stay  there  after  delivering  their  despatches. 
Accordingly,  after  some  difficulty  and  delay, 
Trotzky  gave  my  father  the  faciHties  for  our 
journey  to  England,  though  he  would  not  allow 
the  military  and  naval  representatives  going  with 
us  any  special  concessions,  declaring  that  they 
must  travel  as  ordinary  passengers. 

The  8  th  of  January  was  settled  for  the  day 
of  our  departure,  and  our  last  days  in  Petrograd 
passed  slowly  and  regretfully. 

The  cold  was  intense,  an  icy  wind  swept  down 
the  quays,  snow  continued  to  fall  day  after  day, 
piling  itself  in  huge  masses  all  down  the  streets. 
It  was  almost  impossible  for  motors  to  get  through 
it,  and  driving  in  a  sledge  down  the  Nevsky  was 
like  going  on  a  mountain  switchback.  Bleak  and 
grey  the  sky  stretched  itself  above  the  town  and 
the  ice-bound  river.  There  seemed  no  help  any- 
where against  the  pitiless  decree  that  the  folly 
of  man  was  carrying  out.  The  curse  of  an  in- 
evitable disaster  hovered  like  a  bird  with  giant 
overshadowing  wings  above  the  country. 

On  one  of  the  few  remaining  days  I  went  for 
the  last  time  into  the  vast  Cathedral  of  St.  Isaac's. 
In  the  dim,  grey-shadowed  darkness  the  tiny, 
yellow  flames  of  a  very  few  candles  burned  feebly, 
flutteringly.  The  great  church  that  had  always 
been  full  was  now  almost  empty.     Before  the 


LAST  DAYS  IN  PETROGRAD      223 

Miraculous  Madonna  of  St.  George,  one  old 
woman  knelt  in  prayer,  and  two  little  solitary 
candles  burned.  In  another  part  of  the  church 
a  service  was  going  on  and  one  or  two  people 
stood  lost  among  the  shadows,  while  through  the 
jewelled  doors  a  priest  in  a  wonderful  green  robe 
prayed  in  a  halo  of  golden  light  that  made  his 
figure  stand  out  startlingly  clear  amidst  the 
surrounding  dark. 

Going  out  again  into  the  white,  whirling  snow- 
storm I  walked  slowly  up,  past  the  marvellous 
equestrian  statue  of  Peter  the  Great  onto  the  quay. 
The  old,  pink  palace  of  Prince  MenchikofiE  faced 
me  on  the  opposite  shore,  and  farther  down  the 
river  the  great  grey  building  of  the  bourse  stood 
out,  facing  the  bullet-scarred  Winter  Palace, 
standing  out  dark-red  above  the  snow. 

A  sense  of  utter  desolation  and  tragedy  lay 
over  it  all,  the  hopelessness  of  an  abandoned  city, 
alive  still  with  the  memories  of  long-dead  glories, 
of  golden  pomp  and  revelry.  Somewhere  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  the  crack  of  a  rifle  broke 
the  frozen  stillness,  and  a  workman  who  was 
passing  laughed  savagely.  A  gust  of  icy  wind 
sent  a^loud  of  snow  into  my  face,  and  a  half- 
starving  yellow  dog,  limping  on  three  legs,  rubbed 
itself  against  my  skirt,  looking  up  at  me  with 
piteous  eyes.  And  through  the  drifting  snow 
the  ghosts  of  Russia's  greatness  seemed  to  pass 


224         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

and  vanish — ^mei;i  and  women  who  had  lived  and 
died  for  Russia,  whose  heads  were  bent  under  the 
weight  of  intolerable  shame. 

On  the  last  night  before  our  morning  start  I 
walked  home  from  a  dinner  in  the  Millionaia 
through  a  stillness  that  held  something  xmcanny 
in  its  voiceless  quiet.  The  streets  seemed  utterly 
deserted,  only  once  two  workmen  passed,  dark, 
grotesque  figures  muffled  in  sheepskins,  the  points 
of  their  rifles  black  against  the  snow. 

The  heavy  clouds  had  lifted,  a  few  faint  stars 
shone  in  the  distant,  blue  darkness  of  the  sky. 
The  empty  square  showed  an  almost  untrodden 
purity  of  snow.  The  fortress  stood  a  dark  shadow 
above  the  frozen  river;  dimly  against  the  sky  the 
spire  of  Peter  and  Paul  reared  a  slender  black 
finger,  pointing  to  the  stars. 

Then  the  sudden  roar  and  rattle  of  a  motor 
broke  the  stillness;  filled  with  a  crowd  of  half- 
drunken  soldiers,  it  passed  down  the  quay,  plough- 
ing its  way  with  diffictilty  through  the  heavy 
snow.  Through  the  coarse,  jeering  laughter  I 
caught  the  words:  '* Liberty — ^peace.  Hurrah 
for  Peace." 

Liberty  and  peace — ^while  above  the  blue  and 
silver  city  of  dead  Emperors,  hovered  the  shadow 
of  German  autocracy  and  German  militarism  and 
German  power — ^like  a  great  black  monster  ready 
to  devour  its  prey. 


XXXII 

THE  SOUL  OF  RUSSIA 

I  REMEMBER  how  profoundly  miserable  I  was 
all  that  last  week  in  Petrograd.  People  used  to 
ask  me:  **But  surely  you  must  be  glad  to  get  away 
from  this  desolation  and  chaos,  to  go  back  to 
civilization  and  order,  to  clean  streets,  and  shops, 
and  comfort?"  And  I  could  only  say  that,  yes, 
of  course,  I  was  glad  to  be  going  back  to  England 
—but 

And  then  it  was  always  so  difficult  to  find  an 
adequate  reason  to  explain  that  "but"  when 
there  was  really  no  reason  at  all,  but  just  the  in- 
describable ache  of  parting  with  something  or 
somebody — and  I  wasn't  sure  which  it  was — that 
had  grown  wonderfully  near  to  me. 

It  was  Petrograd — the  capital  of  Russia — that 
I  hated  saying  good-bye  to — and  yet  it  wasn't 
only  that.  It  was  the  whole  vast  country  that 
I  had  never  even  seen,  a  country  of  wide  spaces 
and  wonderful  solitudes!  It  was  the  fairy-tale 
palace  of  the  Kremlin  with  rose-flushed  walls, 
and  slim,  shadowy  churches  and  gold  and  silver 
cupolas  and  domes.     It  was  the  white  purity  of 

225 


226  tHE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

untrodden  snow  in  those  wonderful  pine-forests. 
It  was  the  indescribable  subtle  magic  of  long,  long 
summer  evenings.  It  was  the  unforgettable  blue 
of  that  sea  beyond  Balaclava.  It  was  the  songs 
the  gipsies  sing  round  their  fires  in  the  forests 
and  the  songs  the  soldiers  sing  as  they  march 
down  the  long,  straight  roads.  And  even  this 
was  not  all — it  was  the  soul  of  the  people  I  had 
grown  to  love,  even  though  I  did  not  yet  under- 
stand them.  And  it  was  the  soldiers  I  had  nursed 
those  first  years  of  the  war  and  who  had  opened 
my  eyes  to  something  that  was  new  and  big  and 
childlike,  and  yet  wonderfully  grand  in  their 
simpleness.  I  had  seen  them  suffer  without  com- 
plaint or  question,  and  I  had  also  seen  them  die — 
and  they  had  taught  me  something  I  could  not 
forget. 

These  shrieking  hooligans  who  slouched  about 
the  streets  drinking,  shooting,  and  marauding 
were  soldiers  too,  that  was  certainly  a  fact  one 
could  not  get  away  from;  but,  knowing  their 
ignorance,  one  could  not  so  much  blame  them  as 
loathe  and  perforce  admire  the  fiendish  cleverness 
of  the  people  who  knew  so  well  where  Russia's 
weakness  lay  and  knew  how  to  play  upon  that 
weakness,  using  it  to  their  own  best  advantage 
and  turning  those  patient,  gentle  men  into  utter 
brutes,  drunk  and  blind  and  mad  with  the  false 
knowledge  that  had  been  so  subtly  instilled  into 
them. 


THE  SOUL  OF  RUSSIA  227 

But  the  soul  of  Russia  was  not  dead,  as  a  letter 
written  to  my  mother  about  a  week  before  we 
left  Petrograd  very  clearly  shows.  It  was  written 
from  prison,  but  the  writer  has  since  then  been 
released,  and  I  hope  she  will  forgive  my  publish- 
ing her  letter  in  this  book,  as  it  illustrates  better 
than  any  words  of  mine  the  feelings  of  all  true 
Russians  who  saw  their  country  being  led  to  ruin 
and  were  powerless  to  save  her:  "First  of  all, 
an  introduction  to  this  cry  of  my  heart,  an  excuse 
for  my  bad  English.  I  know  your  language 
just  enough  to  be  well  aware  of  how  very  defec- 
tive will  be  the  way  I  can  and  must  express  my 
thoughts  and  feelings.  But  it  mustn't  stop  me, 
and  I  hope  you  will  be  kind  enough  not  to  mind  it. 

**It  is  ever  so  long  I  had  the  most  intense 
wish  of  coming  to  see  you  and  to  talk  to  you — 
you  personally,  because  I  know  how  kind  and 
brave  and  earnest  you  are — but  still  more — 
excuse  me  for  telling  it  quite  openly — as  to  the  one 
and  only  reachable  personification  of  England. 
And  for  all  these  long  months  of  our  hopes  and 
our  work,  and  especially  during  the  last  weeks  of 
our  struggle,  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind 
to  do  it.  I  felt  it  impossible  to  read  in  your 
looks  things  that  you  must  have  been  thinking 
of  us  Russians,  and  that  I  couldn't  bear  to  see 
in  eyes  of  strangers,  though  allies  and  friends, 
I  would  rather  say,  because  allies  and  friends, 
and  so  much  admired  and  respected  friends. 


228  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

*'Now,  since  I  am  in  prison,  I  have  a  feeling 
of  having  won  a  right  of  looking  straight  in  the 
face  of  your  country,  and  think  it  even  my  duty 
to  tell  you  something  of  the  feelings  many,  many 
Russian  hearts  are  full  of. 

"You  must  know  all  the  admiration,  the  love, 
and  the  faith  we  have  in  the  great  principles  of 
true  liberty,  true  generosity,  and  true  democracy 
we  know  your  country  is  struggling  for. 

"You  must  know,  that  all  of  us  who  simply 
understand  things,  are  your  most  faithful  and 
loyal  friends,  that  we  would  do  anything  to  save 
the  liberty,  the  happiness,  the  honour  of  our 
country,  and  that  we  know  that  it  is  England 
and  France  that  alone  would  help  us  to  it. 

"You  must  understand  that  it  is  only  our  dread- 
ful darkness — artificially  cultivated  for  ages — that 
leads  our  people  and  our  country  away  from  the 
straight  road  of  faith  and  honour,  and  that  we 
are  going  in  whole  Russia  through  a  dreadful 
struggle  of  the  conscious  mind  against  the  physical 
unconscious  strength. 

"I  would  willing  say,  *Have  patience  with  us,' 
because  I  know  truth  and  wisdom  will  conquer, 
but  I  understand  too  well,  that  'patience'  for 
you  now  means  lives  and  lives  of  your  men,  so 
that  I  must  be  silent.  Still  every  day  of  expecta- 
tion is  a  day  gained  to  our  cause. 

"I  am  looking  now  in  the  newspapers  for  your 


THE  SOUL  OF  RUSSIA  229 

victories  as  I  would  for  ours,  and  the  day  your 
armies  entered  so  beautifully  in  Jerusalem  was 
such  a  day  of  joy  in  my  solitude !  I  long  to 
stretch  out  my  hand  across  all  the  lands  and  seas 
that  lie  between  us  and  England,  and  grasp  the 
hand  of  Lloyd  George.  There  are  things  that 
one  feels  so  strongly  no  words  can  tell  them. 

''You  cannot  imagine  how  free  one  feels,  sitting 
in  prison !  It  is  such  an  unexpected  and  such  a 
very  strong  feeling,  the  experience  is  worth  while 
going  through,  were  it  only  for  this  discovery. 

*'Now,  when  I  am  physically  released  and  freed, 
I  will  certainly  knock  at  your  door,  and  if  ever 
and  in  any  way,  I  may  be  useful  to  you  personally, 
or  your  coimtry  you  must  know  I  will  be  but  too 
happy  to  give  you  an  active  (the  only  I  care  for) 
proof  of  my  love  to  England  and  all  the  great 
human  ideas  and  feelings  she  personifies  in  my 
conception." 

Here  in  England  we  have  often  talked  so  glibly 
of  the  "coimtry  going  to  the  dogs,"  but  I  wonder 
if  we,  any  of  us,  realise  what  it  would  mean  if 
these  careless  words  of  ours  came  true  and  we 
saw  this  England  that  we  love  in  a  state  resem- 
bling that  of  Russia  now. 

At  a  Christmas  party  at  the  embassy  when  some 
of  the  English  officers  were  singing  "God  Save 
the  King,"  the  man  I  was  standing  next  to  turned 
to  me,  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  "You  don't  know 


230         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

what  it  means,"  he  said  unsteadily,  "to  hear  your 
men  sing  that — ^while  we  Russians  have  no  Em- 
peror and  no  country  left."  I  have  seen  a 
correspondent  of  one  of  the  leading  newspapers 
looking  down  from  our  balcony  on  a  rabble  dis- 
puting over  some  antiwar  demonstration  turn 
away  with  a  tortured  face.  *'Ah — l(ak  bolna!" 
("how  it  hurts!"),  I  heard  him  whisper  to  him- 
self. And  some  of  the  doctors  and  nurses  who 
who  came  to  our  Red  Cross  store  have  burst 
openly  into  tears.  "England  sends  us  all  these 
wonderful  things,"  they  have  exclaimed,  "but  we 
don't  deserve  them.  Surely  England  must  hate 
us  now." 

And  in  all  classes  one  found  this  feeling  preva- 
il    lent,  even   down  to   the   isvostchiks   and  shop- 
1      people.     For  in  Russia  time  is  not  of  that  vital 
importance  that  it  is  in  England,  and  one  can 
have  long  political  discussions  with  the  driver 
of  the  isvostchichia  that  takes  one  into  town,  with 
»     the  shopman  who  sells  one  a  yard  of  ribbon,  and 
'      the  waiter  who  brings  one  a  cup  of  tea.     The 
coachmen  have  a  happy  way  of  driving  along 
with  their  reins  between  their  knees,  the  while, 
twisted  roimd   on  the  box,  they  declaim  with 
much   hand-waving   and   shoulder-shrugging   to 
their  passenger  in  the  cab. 

I  remember  having  one  such  conversation  one 
of  the  last  days  I  was  in  Petrograd.    A  driving 


THE  SOUL  OF  RUSSIA  231 

snow-storm  hid  the  tops  of  the  houses  in  whirHng 
whiteness,  here  and  there  at  street  comers  fires 
burned  fitfully,  an  icy  wind  that  seemed  to  come 
from  all  directions  at  once  cut  straight  through 
one's  furs.  ''You  don't  like  this  weather!" 
the  driver  of  my  sleigh  inquired  amiably,  turning 
round  to  examine  my  stiffly  frozen  countenance. 

*'No — I  don't,"  I  retorted  shortly,  trying  to 
pull  my  collar  up  higher  round  my  ears. 

"Eh — eh,"  he  chuckled,  "but  then  you  aren*t 
Russian — you  would  get  used  to  it  in  time.  You 
are  English,  perhaps." 

I  answered  that  I  was  and  the  man  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "But  in  England  the  climate  is 
also  bad,"  he  asserted.  "You  have  fogs  there 
and  rain,  and  the  sun  never  shines."  He  turned 
to  give  a  flick  of  the  reins  to  his  tired  horse  and 
then  swung  round  again  on  his  seat.  "Yet  they 
say  it  is  better  in  England  than  here.  You 
have  order  there,  is  it  not  so  ?  And  yet  you  have 
liberty !  Eh,  Boji  moi — liberty.  What  a  lot 
they  talk  of  liberty !  They  tell  us  we  are  free 
now  and  they  call  us  comrades — "  he  flung  up 
his  hands.  "And  look  at  the  streets  full  of  armed 
men — and  one  can  no  longer  be  out  in  safety 
after  dark.  Why  only  four  nights  ago  I  was 
nearly  shot — ey  Bogou,  barishnia — ^here  in  the 
Millionaia,  four  tovarische  quarrelling  over  some- 
thing.   Eh — but  it  goes  badly  with  us,  and  surely 


232  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

the  Germans  will  come.  God  knows  what  will 
happen — ^but  certainly  the  Allies  will  be  angry 
with  us?  Is  it  not  so?  England  will  no  longer 
be  our  friend — "  Simk  into  sudden  gloom,  he 
returned  to  a  realisation  of  his  horse,  which  was 
wandering  aimlessly  along  on  its  own,  and  sat, 
hunched  shoulders,  facing  the  blinding  snow- 
flakes. 

No — ^the  soul  of  Russia  was  not  dead,  is  not 
dead  now.  The  soul  of  Russia  is  something  that 
neither  the  Germans  nor  the  Bolsheviks  can  kill. 
I  Only  those  who  have  lived  there  know  what  it 
means,  or  can  understand  the  nameless  charm 
with  which  Russia  holds  one,  homesickness  that 
makes  one  long  for  her  strange  wa5rwardness.  I 
I  remember  being  often  told:  "Oh  yes — ^you  may 
grumble  at  Petrograd  now,  but  you  will  want  to 
come  back. 

"Once  you  have  lived  in  Russia  you  will  always 
want  to  come  back — she  will  never  let  you  for- 
get her.'' 

There  is  a  sentence  in  Mr.  Walpole's  book, 
*'The  Green  Mirror,"  that  in  a  way  also  explains 
this  feeling:  "That  cotmtry,  as  I  see  it  now, 
stirs  always  through  the  hearts  of  its  lovers 
questions  about  everything  in  heaven  or  earth, 
and  then  tells  one  at  the  end  that  nothing  matters. 
In  Russia  one  is  so  close  to  God  and  the  devil — 
in  England  there  is  business  and  common  sense." 


THE  SOUL  OF  RUSSIA  233 

And  that  is  part,  perhaps,  of  the  spell  Russia 
uses  to  keep  the  hearts  of  those  who  love  her  faith- 
ful to  her.  She  keeps  one  always  asking  ques- 
tions and  smiles  her  wonderful  enigmatic  smile 
because  one  can  never  find  the  answer. 


XXXIII 

THE  JOURNEY  FROM  RUSSIA 

The  start  from  Petrograd  at  half  past  seven 
that  Monday  morning  was  something  like  a 
shadowed  dream.  There  was  no  electric  light; 
here  and  there  a  candle  glimmered  feebly;  on  the 
top  of  the  big  stairs  one  little  oil-lamp  made  a 
glow  of  dim  light  in  the  surrounding  darkness. 
The  maids  were  all  in  tears;  shadowy  figures 
carrying  bags  and  wraps  hurried  to  and  fro;  the 
big  glass  doors  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  were 
opened  every  moment,  letting  in  cold  blasts  of 
icy  air;  outside  motors  puffed  and  snorted,  and 
the  snow  lay  Hke  a  mantle  of  white  silence  over 
the  town. 

Then  the  moment  came  to  start,  to  pack  into 
the  waiting  motor  that  forced  its  way  slowly 
and  haltingly  through  the  snow.  In  the  grey, 
bitter  darkness  of  that  winter  morning  the 
famihar  landmarks  were  only  shadows,  the  vast 
expanse  of  the  river,  the  quay,  and  the  palaces 
and  churches  with  their  golden  domes  seemed  all 
a  blur  of  grey  and  white,  with  just  in  the  east 
a  faint  pink  glow  behind  the  clouds. 

234 


THE  JOURNEY  FROM  RUSSIA     235 

Then  the  bleak,  dirty  Finland  station,  the  loi- 
tering, staring  soldiers,  a  company  of  Red  Guards, 
jostling  everybody  out  of  their  way  as  they 
slung  down  the  platform;  the  little  crowd  of 
people  who  had  come  to  see  us  off,  shivering  in  the 
icy  cold,  stamping  their  feet  to  try  and  keep  warm 
— the  jerk  and  rattle  of  the  train,  the  shrill  scream 
of  the  frozen  wheels  as  at  last  it  started. 

Thanks  to  the  kindness  of  the  station-master, 
we  had  managed  to  secure  a  sleeping-car  to  our- 
selves and  the  seven  English  officers  travelling 
with  us,  and,  having  taken  food  with  us,  we  were 
fairly  comfortable,  and  the  day  passed  quite 
quickly.  That  night  we  were  all  awakened  by 
five  or  six  armed  soldiers  who  came  down  the 
corridor  and  demanded  to  see  our  passports^ 
though  when  they  opened  the  doors  of  the  com- 
partment belonging  to  my  mother  and  myself 
they  grunted  out,  *'0h — only  a  woman,"  and 
shut  the  doors  again  with  a  contemptuous  bang. 

The  next  day  seemed  very  long.  The  cold 
was  intense,  the  windows  were  so  tightly  frozen 
over  that  one  could  hardly  see  out,  and  the 
coimtry  seemed  nothing  but  miles  and  miles  of 
snow-covered  plains,  with  here  and  there  a  miser- 
able wooden  village  or  a  forest  of  fir-trees. 

Toward  evening  we  began  to  realise  that  we 
were  going  to  be  very  late  arriving  at  Tomeo, 
the  frontier  of  Finland  and  Sweden,  and  General 


236  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

Knox  and  Admiral  Stanley  were  doubtful  whether 
we  should  be  able  to  get  across  in  the  dark.  At 
the  station  of  Uleaborg  the  English  consul  at 
Tomeo  met  us,  and  we  faced  the  fact  that,  even 
if  we  did  get  across  the  frontier  that  night,  we 
would  most  certainly  miss  the  train  to  Sweden. 
By  the  time  the  train  started  on  again  from  Ulea- 
borg it  was  so  late  that  we  gave  up  all  idea  of 
crossing  the  frontier,  and  when  we  finally  arrived 
at  Torneo,  at  half  past  twelve,  arrangements  were 
made  to  allow  us  to  sleep  in  our  carriage.  It  was 
so  bitterly  cold  that  there  was  danger  of  the 
heating  freezing,  so  they  had  to  leave  the  engine 
on  and  shunt  us  about  during  the  night  in  order 
to  keep  it  going. 

The  Russian  soldiers  made  some  difficulties 
about  passing  our  luggage  through  the  customs, 
but  after  a  long  wait  in  the  dreary  station  at 
Tomeo,  everything  was  finally  settled  and  we 
packed  into  the  low,  open  sledges  to  drive  the 
little  way  across  the  frozen  river  to  the  Swedish 
frontier,  Haparanda.  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever 
forget  the  cold  of  that  drive;  the  wind  seemed  to 
cut  through  one's  furs  as  if  they  were  absolutely 
non-existent.  The  cloudless  sky  had  the  pale- 
blue  brilliance  of  ice;  the  vast  plain  of  untrodden 
snow  showed  no  sign  of  life  or  habitation;  low 
down  on  the  horizon  a  queer  glow  seemed  to 
radiate  from  the  sun.     Somebody  said  it  was  the 


THE  JOURNEY  FROM  RUSSIA     237 

northern  light,  but  the  agony  of  cold  was  so 
intense  that  it  seemed  to  freeze  even  one's  eye- 
lashes together,  and  the  only  way  to  find  relief 
was  to  bury  one's  face  inside  one's  furs  and  pray 
that  it  might  be  soon  over. 

After  a  drive  of  little  over  twenty  minutes,  the 
sledge  pulled  up  with  a  jerk,  and  with  an  effort 
we  unfroze  enough  to  get  out  stiffly.  Pleasant- 
faced,  carefully  soaped  Swedish  soldiers  in  at- 
tractive blue  coats  lined  with  sheepskin  and  white 
fur  caps  had  come  out  to  meet  us  and  led  us 
into  the  scrupulously  clean  waiting-room  of  the 
little  wooden  frontier  station.  The  blue  and 
yellow  paint,  the  clean  curtains,  the  fresh-faced 
waitresses,  the  steaming  hot  coffee  and  crisp  rolls 
seemed  all  to  belong  to  another  world,  and  when 
the  physical  pain  of  our  slowly  thawing  feet  and 
hands  had  passed,  we  began  to  realise  the  joys 
of  returning  to  civilisation.  Nevertheless,  the 
long  day's  wait  at  Haparanda  was  very  trying. 
After  having  enjoyed  the  excellent  luncheon 
given  us  in  the  hotel,  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  sit  as  close  as  one  could  to  the  stove  and 
try  and  read  or  sleep  the  afternoon  away.  One 
or  two  of  the  braver  spirits  went  for  a  walk, 
but  came  back  very  soon,  annoimcing  that  the 
thermometer  registered  forty-eight  degrees  be- 
low zero — eighty  degrees  of  frost. 

At  six  o'clock  we  had  dinner,  and  then  went 


238  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

down  to  the  station  to  get  into  the  train  for  Stock- 
holm. Compartments  had  been  reserved  for  us, 
but  the  comfort  was  rather  marred  by  the  fact 
of  all  the  water-pipes  being  frozen,  so  that,  if  one 
tried  to  wash  one's  hands,  one  immediately  flooded 
one's  carriage. 

After  a  journey  of  a  little  over  forty  hours  we 
arrived  at  Stockholm  on  Friday  evening  at  six, 
and  stayed  a  night  in  the  luxurious  Grand  Hotel, 
starting  again  the  next  evening  and  arriving  at 
Christiania  late  on  Sunday  afternoon. 

By  now  one  had  begun  to  have  the  feeling  that 
life  was  to  continue  like  this,  a  constant  pack- 
ing of  one's  bag,  a  constant  getting  in  and  out 
of  trains,  a  journey  that  seemed  to  go  on  for  ever. 

After  spending  the  night  at  Christiania  we 
started  at  half  past  seven  the  next  morning,  and 
of  all  the  days  of  the  journey  I  think  that  one 
was  almost  the  worst.  It  began  by  being  intensely 
cold,  but  later  the  carriages  became  almost  un- 
bearably hot,  and  though  we  turned  off  the  heat- 
ing it  seemed  to  make  no  difference,  and  puffs 
of  hot  air  streamed  out  of  the  radiators  till  one's 
feet  seemed  to  swell  to  twice  their  normal  size, 
and  one's  head  felt  as  if  it  was  going  to  burst. 
We  arrived  at  Bergen  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  started  at  half  past  seven,  before  the 
town  was  awake,  being  smuggled  on  board  the 
little  Norwegian  yacht,  the  Heimdaal. 


THE  JOURNEY  FROM  RUSSIA     239 

We  were  told  that  after  two  hotirs'  journey 
down  the  fjord  we  would  arrive  at  the  place 
where  the  cruiser  that  was  being  sent  over  from 
England,  would  meet  us,  and,  accordingly,  we 
had  a  very  good  breakfast  and  came  on  deck 
feeling  that  at  last  the  fi;nal  stage  of  our  journey 
was  approaching.  But  the  grey  dawn  had  turned 
into  a  blinding  snow-storm  that  became  thicker 
and  thicker  as  we  came  nearer  the  sea,  till  even 
the  little  Norwegian  destroyer  that  steamed 
behind  us  could  hardly  be  seen  amidst  the  whirling 
snowflakes.  The  captain  of  the  yacht  began  to 
look  grave  and  preoccupied,  and  when  we  asked 
him  what  he  thought  of  the  weather  and  the 
chances  of  its  clearing  up  he  shook  his  head  and 
answered  that  it  probably  would  not  clear  up  till 
the  evening,  if  then,  and  added  that  he  was  very 
much  afraid  that  the  cruiser  would  not  be  able 
to  find  her  way.  After  anchoring  and  waiting 
for  a  little  over  an  hour  at  the  spot  that  had  been 
appointed  for  meeting,  the  captain  told  us  that, 
as  she  had  not  arrived,  it  meant  that  she  could 
not  find  her  way  in  while  the  snow-storm  lasted, 
and  he  asked  us  what  we  had  rather  do.  We  were 
altogether  eleven  people,  and  the  accommodation 
on  the  yacht  was  not  very  large,  but  it  was  finally 
decided  that  to  go  back  to  Bergen  would  be  too 
great  a  risk  as  it  wotdd  give  the  Germans  too 
definite  an  idea  of  our  movements,  and  therefore, 


240         THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

it  was  better  to  stay  on  the  yacht.  Accordingly 
we  steamed  to  a  sheltered  little  bay,  casting  anchor 
there  between  the  snow-covered  hills  and  rocks, 
and  settled  down  to  wait. 

Nothing  could  excel  the  kindness  of  the  captain, 
and  he  took  every  trouble  to  make  us  comfort- 
able at  great  inconvenience  to  himself  and  his 
officers.  We  had  a  most  excellent  luncheon, 
during  which  a  diversion  was  created  as  one 
of  the  little  Norwegian  destroyers  came  up  along- 
side and  a  message  was  brought  to  the  captain. 
"Has  she  brought  news?"  we  asked.  The  cap- 
tain shook  his  head.  *'No,'*  he  answered  gravely. 
* '  But  she  has  brought  fish  for  our  dinner. ' '  Then, 
looking  round  at  otu*  disappointed  faces,  he  added, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes:  **It  is  almost  as 
important." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  snow-storm  cleared, 
and,  hearing  vague  reports  that  a  ship  had  been 
sighted  out  at  sea,  we  steamed  out  once  more  to 
the  appointed  meeting-place.  But  after  waiting 
there  for  a  little,  one  of  the  destroyers  brought 
us  news  that  it  was  only  a  false  alarm,  and  as  it 
was  growing  qmckly  dark  we  turned  back  once 
more  to  our  little  sheltered  bay  and  resigned  our- 
selves to  a  night  of  waiting. 

The  next  morning  the  wind  had  risen  and  there 
were  intervals  of  sunshine  between  squalls  of 
snow  and  sleet,  but  at  eleven  the  cruiser  was 
sighted  and  we  went  out  once  more  to  meet  her. 


THE  JOURNEY  FROM  RUSSIA     241 

It  was  impossible  to  tranship  in  such  rough 
weather,  and  we  had  to  find  a  sheltered  place  to 
cast  anchor  once  more. 

Then,  at  last,  our  large  party  and  all  our  lug- 
gage having  been  safely  got  on  board,  we  started 
out  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind.  I  think  even  a 
hardened  sailor  would  not  have  called  it  a  good 
crossing,  and  the  fact  that  we  took  twenty-six 
hours  instead  of  fourteen  goes  a  little  way  to 
prove  how  rough  it  was.  They  were  all  wonder- 
ftdly  kind  to  us  on  board  that  ship,  and  I  am 
sure,  having  to  timi  out  of  their  cabins  to  make 
room  for  us,  they  can't  have  loved  us  very  much. 

The  last  two  hours  before  we  landed  were 
rather  a  joy.  The  wind  had  dropped  and  the 
sim  came  out,  and  through  the  soft  mist  the  coast- 
line of  Scotland  gave  one  a  lump  in  one's  throat 
as  being  the  first  sight  of  home  and  all  that  home 
meant  in  times  like  these.  British  ships  of  every 
kind  were  on  all  sides  now,  and  once  a  British 
sea-plane  passed  close  over  our  heads,  and  I 
wasn't  quite  sure  whether  I  wanted  to  laugh  or 
to  cry  when  at  last,  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  we 
landed  at  Leith. 

I  think  the  people  in  the  hotel  at  Edinburgh 
must  have  wondered  who  we  were  and  where  on 
earth  we  came  from,  for  we  were  all  very  hilarious 
over  the  dinner  we  had  before  starting  to  London 
by  the  night  express.  The  waitresses  at  our  table 
who  knew  all  about  it  were  sympathetic  and  kind, 


242  THE  CITY  OF  TROUBLE 

but  the  other  people  in  the  restaurant,  who  didn't 
know  all  about  it,  looked  at  us  disapprovingly 
for  making  so  much  noise.  And  then  the  beauti- 
fully clean  train,  and  the  dear  little  fat  Scotch 
guard  who  shook  his  head  over  us  sympathetically 
and  brought  me  a  quite  delicious  cup  of  tea  in 
the  morning.  It's  almost  worth  being  away 
from  England  for  four  years  to  have  that  thrilling 
feeling  of  coming  home  again,  the  quickened 
heart-beat  that  catches  one's  breath,  the  joy 
over  all  the  little  homely  details,  the  half-incredu- 
lous wonder  at  hearing  one's  own  language  all 
round  one,  the  indescribable  smell  of  London 
on  an  early  winter  morning. 

And  yet,  at  the  back  of  it  all,  the  thought  of 
Petrograd  was  very  present  in  my  mind  and  still 
is,  as  I  write.  Petrograd  with  its  spires  flashing 
in  the  simshine — a  city  of  blue  and  gold  on  siun- 
mer  days — a  city  of  dreams  through  the  opal- 
colotued  nights — a  city,  during  those  last  months 
of  snow  and  desolation — and,  as  I  had  seen  it  last, 
of  blue  and  silver  solitude  and  silence. 

** Russia  will  not  let  you  forget  her,"  the  words 
came  back  to  me  over  and  over  again,  and  across 
the  miles  of  sea  and  snow  and  moimtains  the  voice 
of  Russia  calls,  the  eyes  of  Russia  smile  their 
elusive,  haunted  smile,  and  the  hands  of  Russia 
are  stretched  out  asking  for  help  in  her  hour  of 
need. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  BATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL     FINE     OF     25      CENTS 

WILL   BE   ASSESSED    FOR    FAILURE  TO    RETURN  i 

THIS   BOOK   ON   THE   DATE  DUE.      THE  PENALTY  ! 

WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


StP     5    ,   

SEP     6    15,0  2 

OCT     171932 
JUL  20  1934 

FEB  221939 

MAR  S5  1939 
APR   21  1939 


NOV,   2   1939 


30NOV5lPt 
l^Nllt952 


HARl4'67-9 

LOAN 


111968  81 


ex. 

CO 

I 

CO 
-JO 


AP^  0  8 1997 

-J 


LD  21-2Um-6,'32 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CD^lbDlD7^ 


/ 


3863u^ 


1^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


iliiiii 


